


Brothers of Iron and Blood

by Skaldfifla_Hlutr



Series: Unspoken Histories and Unforeseen Futures [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Betrayal, Blood Brothers, Cameo, Childhood Friends, Dysfunctional Family, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Incarnations, Let there be trauma, Other, Pre-Thor (2011), Predestination, Prophecy, Ragnarok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 39,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25581319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skaldfifla_Hlutr/pseuds/Skaldfifla_Hlutr
Summary: Long ago two childhood friends loved each other dearly. Their bond was so strong they bound each other by oath and became family. Through a prophecy the bonds of their friendship crumbled and concluded with a betrayal.The day before the execution they ask each other, just how did we turn out like this?
Series: Unspoken Histories and Unforeseen Futures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855882
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to The Unfinished End.
> 
> Odin may seem like an uninteresting character for MCU fans, but it’s hard to dispute what an integral part he is in affecting the lives of Hela, Thor and Loki, whom we love. Just wanted to dedicate some words to possibly flesh him out since to his death, he had just been a overpowered old guy, who barks orders, isn’t a great parent and makes poor decisions.
> 
> For those that don’t like Odin and thinks he deserves to be under a bus, don’t worry, busses come and go.

It was just after the first great war with the Jotnar. The war that pushed the Jotnar off the sacred lands, leaving the fire Jotnar, or Sons of Muspel as they liked to be called, nearly wiped out and the ice Jotnar retreating to Jotunheim. The ice Jotnar were only spared such fate by the Queen Bestla an ice Jotun herself, who begged on their behalf. King Bor now lays claim to the Realm Eternal and declares its name Asgard. 

As the pinnacle of the four realms, Realm Eternal is both the starting point and the ending place of the Ragnarok cycle. Each cycle spawns players on the board to act out a story and each cycle will end stronger than the last. Longer than the last. It is inevitable. 

* * *

Odin! You mustn’t run off,” his hand maid called, “What if an ice Jotun finds you! It’ll eat you!”

“Mother’s a Jotun,” young Odin retorted over his shoulder as he kept running.

Putting her hands on her hips, “And do you think she’ll care if you became food of her brethren?” She called out. It was useless, the young prince had outrun her again. “Honestly, I don’t understand why King Bor would even think to bring such a beast to the court, let alone make her his queen. Luckily the young prince has inherited none of her savagery,” she muttered under her breath as she turned and went back to cleaning.

Odin had just become old enough to start training with Tyr and was eager to find trouble. He ran and ran until he got to the ruins of what was a Jotun village. The ashes of the dwellings were still smoldering from the raid barely a week before and the air reeked of death. The state of the village suggested it was less of a battle than the rape and pillage of a community. Bodies of the slaughtered were still strewn about and the stench of rotting flesh in the warmth of summer was nauseating, but none of this bothered young Odin. It was a glorious victory for his people after all. He skipped around the corpses as if he was just set free from his lessons to his personal playground, waving his wooden broadsword as if fighting imaginary enemies until a shock of flaming orange hair stopped him in his tracks. Feeling sheepish, he hid behind the corner of a broken wall and thanked the Norns that the girl didn’t take notice of his foolishness. She just stood there in front of what looked to be a burnt kitchen, eyes glazed over and cast downward toward the ground.

Odin quietly watched her. There was only one reason she was here. The girl was probably a Jotun, he deduced, emulating the trackers in his father’s army. But it was odd, she wasn’t blue, nor did her skin look like crusted rock over molten lava. She was probably a half-ling like himself, he concluded. Odin was mesmerized and didn’t realize he had leaned forward dislodging a loose pebble from the wall. Snapping out of her trance, the girl’s sharp, green eyes quickly glanced in Odin’s direction glossy with unshed tears. Odin quickly shrank back to his hiding spot to find her standing right next to him, eyes glaring. Odin fell backwards and gave a small shriek. Before she even said anything, he scooted backwards and ran all the way back to camp and flew straight under his bed.

His heart was racing as his body struggled to process the shame, the shock, the awe and the fear he had just experienced. It was exhilarating. So this is what it feels like to stare an enemy in the eye, he thought - he actually had no clue. He was still not old enough to be in a real battle, but he figured that’s what an adult would feel were he to look an enemy in the eye.

At the call of a rooster, Odin jerked his head up only to be prohibited by the hardwood underside of his bed. Apparently, he had fallen asleep under it after yesterday’s incident. Rubbing the rapidly developing goose egg on the crown of his head, his mind started wandering back to the girl with the flaming hair - the way she glared with those green eyes, the touch of melancholy on her brow, the shape of her lean muscles lining her skinny arms. Shaking off the memory, he crawled out from under his bed and readied himself for his lessons with Tyr. There were more exciting things to do than to admire a girl’s muscles.

As he made his way to the training grounds he overheard some of the servants, and of course, including his own handmaid, gossiping about strange occurrences happening around the camp recently and how they are on high alert in fear of magical retaliation from extremist Jotun factions. Not paying much attention to it, Odin shrugs it off and continues to where Tyr is waiting.

Tyr is one of Bor’s most trusted generals. He was newly promoted and still trying to make a name for himself when his chieftain abandoned him and all his people, using them as cannon fodder in a desperate move to ensure his own survival. Disillusioned, he deflected and led the people to take refuge under King Bor to guarantee their survival. He grew to become quite a stern no-nonsense type of man.

Odin’s lessons with Tyr turned out to be more boring than he imagined. All he had been doing the whole morning was swing a weighted wooden blade over and over. As his arms began to tire and his shoulders sore, Odin realized his mind was drifting towards the girl again until, thwack! A long spear connected with the back of his legs and swept them from under him. His backside connected with the ground with a thud and his mind was promptly brought back to the present. 

“Young master, it seems your heart is somewhere else this morning. There’s no point in following through with the exercise when you cannot follow through with a swing of your blade,” Tyr chastised as he extended a hand to help Odin up. “You are dismissed until you are ready to focus.”

Ashamed, Odin was going to argue that he will do better and will not disappoint, but Tyr had already turned around to leave. Being a healthy, hyperactive child he was at his age, he counts it as practice being done for the day and goes back to what he does best, making mischief. Following his gut, he goes back to the Jotun village ruins, hoping to run into the girl again.

Oddly, in the distance to the ruins, Odin had randomly felt startled and fell nearly ten times. Three times he caught himself and seven times he ate dirt. He was always a child who came back home covered in mud and grime, but he was never this jumpy or clumsy. Nor had he ever remembered the ground under him being this slippery. He finally arrived at the old house where he saw the girl with the orange hair last and disappointingly found it empty. Well, at least the bodies were starting to be cleared out. Convincing himself he only went back to the village to explore and survey enemy lines he turned around to the girl’s giggling face waaaay too close to him, making him fall backwards. Either this girl didn’t know what personal space was or she didn’t care. 

“Are you ever not going to fall for the same trick.” She mused, “I must have made you fall like ten times since I’ve met you yesterday.”

Definitely the latter. She may look younger than Odin, but she definitely knows what’s going on. “You didn’t make me fall. I was merely greeting the ants,” came Odin’s lame retort. “What do you want anyways?”

“What do YOU want?” she asked back, “You’re the one stalking me.”

“I’m hunting.” The girl stared expressionless. “For Jo- for beasts,” he hastily added, chin held high. After he said it, he wanted to kick himself. He almost gave his intentions and his identity as prince of Asgard away. ‘One must never trust a Jotun,’ his father had always said. And especially not with that information, Odin mentally added for himself.

She suddenly gave a warm smile again, “That’s funny. So am I. Come on, I know a great spot!”

Ears perking at the potential call for an adventure, Odin jumped up and followed her into the forest.

* * *

Odin and the flame-haired girl leaned over the ledge hovering just above a bilgesnipe den.

“How many do you think are down there?” She whispered.

“Not sure, by the looks of the tracks, maybe one male and three female?” Odin guessed.

The last thing he heard was, “Let’s find out,” before he saw a flash of orange fly over the ledge, landing right on the bull bilgesnipe’s head.

Three females started stampeding around the male as it bucked trying to get the child off it. The girl stood holding onto his antlers as if she was steering it or taming it, her small feet planted firmly on it’s skull as if stuck there by adhesive. Odin was lay frozen over the ledge, dumbstruck by her reckless stupidity, yet awestruck by her skill at wrangling the beasts. The girl had nearly calmed the four bilgesnipe down when they heard the ferocious growl of a fifth one - a female who had recently given birth. 

The girl’s green eyes went wide as Odin saw her visibly swallow, expression panicked. Odin shifted and with a subtle shake of her head, she signaled for him to stay where he was. She disappeared, reappeared beside him and roughly grabbed him by his arm. “Run!” was all she said before she took off.

A heartbeat behind, Odin chased after her as he heard the rampaging bilgesnipe right behind him ploughing down everything in its path.

The beasts were angry. The four females chased them out of the forest before retreating back to the den. The male continued chasing them until they were cornered by the waters of a fast moving stream and a waterfall. Odin was about to jump when he felt hit by a dizzy spell and found himself safely on the other side of the stream, the girl sprawled out on the rocky bank next to him giggling out of breath as the angry male bilgesnipe stalked the shore on the other side.

“What in Ymir’s name was that,” Odin panted. They had been running for a good part of the day and it was already near sundown.

“I believe ‘That’ is a life you owe me,” she laughed out of breath. 

Odin found he was at a loss of words again so he tried to give her the angriest glare he could muster despite his exhaustion.

“I thought you were up for a good hunt,” she teased as she began piling up branches to start a fire, “I guess we’ll settle for bandit eye rabbits next time. Just. For. You.”

“I was prepared for hildisvíni boar, not a whole den of bilgesnipe. That, we would’ve needed a plan for.” Odin was annoyed. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was almost trampled, because of her haughty attitude or because the damn fire starter that Would. Not. Start.

“You have no sense of adventure, Boy,” she continued teasing, “if everything was according to plan, it would be boooorrrringgg.”

“I have a name,” he bristled, trying to redirect the conversation, but when he looked over at her, she was fast asleep, sprawled and snoring in the most unlady-like manner. He noticed there was also a blazing campfire that was not there a second ago.

Odin pokes at the flame and feeds the fire once more before he curls up and goes to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lokk is more of a handful than Odin thought, but he enjoys the adventures with her.

The next morning, Odin woke up alone and looted. His small hunting knife, purse of emergency change, waterskin and fire starter were gone. This confirms it. Never trust a Jotun even if she is only half. 

Not quite sure where he was, Odin walked back towards the forest, hoping he would have some recollection of what he had passed the day before, or that the day old tracks of the bilgesnipe will at least lead him back to the den. He could probably find his way back to the ruins and back home from there.

He was very thirsty by the time he reached the ruins, but rather than looking for water, he found himself drifting back to the same place where he found the flame-haired girl. She was nowhere to be seen, but he did find a pile of his stuff with a rune stick.

Odin held the rune stick with both hands and activated the message. Red magic swirled up like smoke and materialized into the likeness of the girl’s face, “You need to keep better track of your belongings, Boy,” she taunted. Odin started to fiddle with his belongings to make sure they were all there, taking a long sip out of his waterskin to quench his thirst. “Oh and mind the waterskin. I might have accidentally filled it with some rowanberry juice - very refreshing and tasty on the tongue, but not so good on your stomach. It’s quite potent. See you in a few weeks!” With that, her face dissipated to spell “Lokk” before completely disappearing.

Odin quickly spit out the juice he had partially swallowed and tried to wipe off whatever residue on his tongue. Feeling a little nauseous, he tried his best to rush back home. 

He didn’t quite make it. A search party found him passed out near Eastern gate of the new capital of Asgard. As if being found in a pool of his own vomit and diarrhea wasn’t embarrassing enough, he was endlessly lectured by his maid about why young princes should not be putting random berries in their mouths if they weren’t sure.

For weeks he was bedridden. Every little movement set off a wave of dizziness, nausea and stomach cramps. King Bor visited once to check his heir was still alive and Queen Bestla sent a handmaid to offer her regards - not that Odin cared. It was another few weeks until he was up and about, mostly back to his old self.

Odin was furious, this means war, he thought. As soon as his maid turned her back, he grabbed his pack and ran in the direction of the ruins. This time, he was extra cautious along the way in case this Lokk girl was going to scare him or drop him in a ditch again. Nothing happened. Odin was almost disappointed. He found her sitting on top of a wall near the usual spot eating an unusually large apple.

“Any last words, Bitch?” Odin boomed raising his hunting knife towards her.

She continued eating her apple, ignoring him as if he didn’t exist.

Odin could feel his blood begin to boil. He threw a rock at her, which went straight through.

Dropping the apple core on his head to get his attention, Lokk was actually standing on thin air right over him. “Wanna go on a hunt? I know a great place.”

Before Odin could answer, Lokk had already grabbed his wrist and dragged him along. Odin wondered whether his lack of resistance was because he actually wanted to go or because those skinny muscles of hers were actually a lot stronger than they look.

Past the ruins, across the river and up a mountain later, Lokk had half dragged, half teleported Odin to a grassy meadow. Hunting bandit eyed rabbits she claimed, but Odin had his suspicions. Since he met her a little over a month ago, she had probably gotten him killed more times than in all his life. But yet, this place felt like where bandit eyes rabbits would live. It felt safe, Lokk had disappeared somewhere and the soft breeze of early summer slowly coaxed Odin to let down his guard as he settled down for a mid afternoon nap.

His nap was interrupted by a frantic rustling and thumping - far away at first that he was about to dismiss it, until he realized it was getting closer and closer.

Ugh what now, he cursed to himself. He pulled himself up to see Lokk frantically running towards him with an armful of rabbit kits, their parents running next to her and a mountain troll lumbering behind. Shoving Odin half her load, she just yelled back, “No time to explain. We need to get these little ones to the woods.”

Lokk seemed to run in mid air as she blinked in and out of existence until she got to the edge of the woods. Lokk set the kits she had in her arms down and teleported back to Odin’s side to retrieve the remaining kits. By the time all the kits were safely hidden in the woods, Odin was near the edge of the meadow with the parents and the troll trailing, but still following behind. Whispering something under her breath, Lokk turned to Odin and instructed him to draw the troll away while she secured the parents. 

Odin did as instructed and drew the troll away from the woods and to a clearing. Whatever Lokk whispered, seemed to make the troll more aggressive in chasing Odin. It wasn’t until decades later that he found out she casted glamour on him making him look like a female troll in heat - and it was right dab smack in the middle of mating season.

Although he had not been under Tyr’s tutelage for long, Odin remembered lesson number one, always use the field to your advantage. Unfortunately, they were in a clearing there aren’t many places where he can gain a height advantage over the troll. Luckily there was still daylight and trolls’ eyes are very weak towards the sun. Maybe if he can blind the troll long enough to use its height against it, he could kill it or at least knock it out. Grabbing his hunting knife he dodged around the troll’s swings to find the perfect angle to reflect the sunlight before it makes a full retreat behind the mountain. A lucky shot blinds the troll and Odin quickly takes the opportunity to kick at its knees. Another lucky shot brings the troll down, but just as Odin was about to wind up for the finishing blow, the troll's handshot out and grabs his leg swinging him to the ground and knocking the wind out of his lungs. Apparently still weakened from his unfortunate poisoning the week before, he noticed perhaps a little too late that another blow was coming. Just as he braced for impact, a shimmer of red hit him, but oddly there was no pain. Peaking an eye open, he found himself standing on air above the troll as if it was solid ground, Lokk’s arm around his waist. 

“Hey, drop me,” Odin said seriously. “Drop me on top of its head and I’ll knock it out.” Odin’s frame suggested he wasn’t too lacking in brute strength - typical Asgardian.

Odin had barely finished his sentence when Lokk abruptly dropped him and appeared back on the ground trying to get the troll’s attention. Luckily Odin’s reflexes didn’t fail him this time and he was able to land a solid blow to the troll’s neck, effectively knocking it out.

They had to make sure the troll wouldn’t get up anytime soon and try to eat them. After all, it was almost night, when troll’s were most active. Odin suggested rolling the troll down a steep hill close to where they had first arrived near the meadow and Lokk happily obliged. The troll would probably survive the fall, but not without a few broken bones to discourage it from climbing back up.

It seemed like Odin and Lokk half rolled half dragged the unconscious troll for hours before they reached their destination, both being worn out by exercise. Odin gave the finishing kick off the rocky hill and they were on their way back.

They barely made it past the river then Lokk leaned against a tree panting hard with a thin sheen of sweat on her brow. “Whew, that was unexpectedly exhausting,” she panted, “even for me,” as she slid down to the ground and slumped over.

Panicked, Odin ran over to check her for injuries and make sure she wasn’t dead. As her breathing leveled, he realized she was just asleep. She seemed decently intact and probably tired herself out like last time. Well I guess I have first watch, Odin sighed quietly to himself with relief. He built a fire for the night, this time successfully, and went to check on Lokk again.

A flaming piece of hair had fallen into her eyes and Odin instinctively brushed it behind her ear. Her peaceful sleeping face made her look very young - she was probably even younger than Odin. She was also quite cute, Odin thought, smiling to himself.

A crooked smile crept up onto his face as he thought of something mischievous that maybe even Lokk would praise. He would wake up extra early the next morning, steal all her stuff and leave her with an empty water leather. Odin almost laughed himself to sleep thinking about it.

It felt uncomfortably hot early in the morning. Odin shot straight up thinking he had overslept, but instead he woke up to a giant blaze that had consumed the fire that he built and stretched out past where Lokk had been sleeping. In fact, at the center of the blaze was a big lump vaguely in the shape of a child curled up in a fetal position. Finally connecting the dots, Odin began frantically trying to put out the fire. He cursed his stupidity for building the fire too close to her and not taking into consideration how the wind might blow. Shucking off his shirt in an attempt to snuff out the fire ended with it promptly turning to ash. He started calling for Lokk, while kicking dirt at the blaze - no response. Emptying both his and Lokk’s water leathers did little to quell the fire either. Luckily, the dry leaves on the ground had not caught fire and spread the flame. Odin ran back to the river with the two hunting packs and skins to fetch as much water as he could to douse the flame, praying the whole time to the fire spirits that his friend was safe. The water did little to help.

After what seemed like hours of running back and forth with water, the fire suddenly went out as if it was enclosed in an airtight container. A very cranky, very exhausted, but burn-free Lokk was in the middle. 

“What in Muspelheim’s name are you doing, idiot? I’m trying to recuperate!” Lokk apparently had the ability to restore her seidr by absorbing elemental energy, an innate ability that is rare even among the most gifted Jotun sorcerers, but of course Odin was too disconnected with his Jotun heritage to know this.

“Sorry,” Odin sheepishly fidgeted, “I just thought you caught fire.”

“I did,” Lokk a-matter-of-factly replied, “Only I did it on purpose because I used too much magic yesterday and I was feeling shitty.”

“Thank you, though, for caring,” she reluctantly added.

Odin looked up and their eyes met for a second, her eyes glinting a captivating green, before he quickly averted his. 

“Uhh… I guess I should go home. My parents are probably worried,” Odin couldn’t have made a more obvious excuse to run away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lokk gets into a bind.

What an interesting boy, Lokk mused as a voice record summary of the experiment was saved into the rune stick log. 

Although I had been foolish in overusing my magic, I knew I couldn’t miss the opportunity to try out the new spell and have an alibi if I was discovered. I’m not sure whether using the campfire to restore my energies affected the results, but the spell worked. I was able to see, hear and feel as if I were standing in the place of the fire. I’m still not sure whether this spell is possible because of my biology or whether others will be able to reproduce it. If it’s reproducible, I’m sure it will sell for a pretty penny in the spy world. It’s quite convenient, especially in my case, there are torches everywhere in the new capital. But alas, this spell is taxing to maintain. I find myself drained again. I think I’ll need more practice or perhaps a way to improve the efficiency of the spell itself. I wish there were more like me so I could gather more information to fine tune my seidr output. My signature matches as a son of Muspelheim, but I still can’t pinpoint why my natural form appears as a sentient flame rather than organic molten rock or why in solid form I look Asgardian when I share no Asgardian blood.

Lokk scoffed a little at the bitter thoughts that were brought up as the words were said aloud for the recording.

It’s a bit frustrating since anyone who might have had any answers are either dead or in hiding. Maybe Nal is still alive somewhere and she left me here for a purpose. Hopefully I can find more clues before those damned Asgardian brutes destroy everything. Log end.

Lokk frowned and in a fit of anger, threw the rune stick against the wall of what used to be their home and nearly broke it. Picking it back up, Lokk examined the rune stick to make sure it was still functional before slipping it back into a dimensional pocket.

—-  
It was going to be a long day healing. Better start now and maybe the spell could be performed again and tweaked later that night. Lokk built a fire in the hearth and stepped in.

Shaking off the creakiness of staying in one position for too long, Lokk finally felt whole and refreshed. What was supposed to have been an afternoon of rest actually turned into a couple of days. Even the firewood in the dimensional pocket storage was nearly depleted. Lokk went to the old chopping block to chop some more firewood while retreating mentally to think of how to improve the spell. Some meditative exercise would help get the brain juice going.

Five hours and enough firewood to last weeks later, Lokk had a new theory and was eager to test it out. This one was robust enough to allow the user to dedicate specific senses to be used with an elemental source. Rather than using the whole body like in the first spell, one can temporarily sacrifice the use of, let’s say a single eye, to spy from a source. Like rings on the tree, this spell is built to support layers upon layers of spells, theoretically even allowing physical travel between two points using an elemental source as its portal. The caveat is, at least for now, that in order for the spell to work, the location of the elemental source must be a known variable to the user.

That shouldn’t be too much of a problem since Lokk could walk around under an invisibility spell above head if needed.

Snooping around as a flame was fun. Lokk could easily eavesdrop on any conversation that was near fire - a torch, a campfire, a hearth, anything. It was like watching theater, but where the actors didn’t have to act. After running around town nightly for weeks, projecting the senses into the flame source had become much easier. Even retracting the senses back to the body had become less taxing - and that was the hardest part of the spell.

One night Lokk was being especially ambitious and decided to try and look into the palace walls. Odin was there trying to get the attention of his father without much luck. Lokk followed some gossip to the throne room. The servants mentioned something about Surtur and the bringer of Ragnarök. Definitely something to do with Muspelheim. 

Lokk followed the chatter alternating between invisibility spells to physically move or hide out of the way and the spying spell until finally reaching a torch in what appeared to be a study room. A Dökkálfar völva was talking to King Bor about the matter when she suddenly paused and signaled for king Bor to cease their conversation. Lokk began to panic a little and hoped she didn’t notice a flaming eyeball and ear floating in the heart of the torch. Or that the torch was flickering unnaturally in reaction to Lokk’s lack of steady focus. Lokk certainly did not want to permanently lose the function of an eye or ear and quickly worked on releasing the spell - unfortunately not quick enough.

The völva throws a dagger at the torch putting it out and alerting king Bor of a spy. Having abruptly and sloppily cutting the connection, Lokk’s right eye and ear was almost lost. Hiding under an invisibility spell, Lokk ran upwards to the sky before taking off back to the safety of the village ruins in short bursts of teleportation. The little misadventure left Lokk out of breath, drained of seidr and in terrible pain. 

Adrenaline still pumping from the fear of being found, Lokk laughed hysterically before losing consciousness to much needed sleep. 

The next morning, Lokk’s right eye was blurry and throbbing, right ear was ringing, but at the same time unhearing, head was pounding from over exercise and stomach was nauseous from using too much seidr. In short, being awake was no fun at all. Hearing Odin’s obnoxious voice thundering in the other ear sure didn’t help things. Rather than entertain him, Lokk opted to hide. The process of dragging the deadweight of oneself from one place to another out of sheer willpower was not something Lokk wanted to do again. 

Luckily after a few minutes of searching, Odin’s short attention span got the better of him. He lost interest and left. Lokk let out a sigh of relief. Instead of returning to the hearth at home, Lokk was way too tired and decided to just build a fire in that exact location and laid over it. 

It took over a week for Lokk to regain a workable amount of seidr and another few weeks before vision and hearing was finally restored. Still, to be on the safe side, Lokk stayed away from using the spell in the city for months after the incident to ensure no one came in pursuit and instead focused on perfecting the spell. It’s best not to sell the spell, Lokk thought, at least not until things settle.

Recording notes into the log, Lokk came to a brilliant conclusion - It would be good if the spell allowed for a quick retreat in the case one was caught. Maybe an additional layer can be added to it allowing the caster to use the flame as a doorway or portal for a contingency escape plan. Not that there was much to do other than theorize anyways, Lokk got to work.

Months had passed and Lokk was finally ready to come out of the meditative retreat. In the months spent avoiding Odin, he had started coming less and less and eventually he stopped coming completely. Feeling a little forgotten, Lokk figured this would be a great time to sneak up on Odin. Time to plan for a play date.


	4. Chapter 4

There was much unrest in the court. Word had it that a spy was trying to listen in on a private meeting between King Bor and a Dökkálfar völva. Odin had been trying to get his father’s attention and ask him to go hunting, but unfortunately there were more important matters at hand. Someone was plotting against Asgard - an opportunist trying to gain the upper hand and strike while Asgard was still on the mend from the previous war which had just recently ended. Bor was going to get to the bottom of it and drag the spy out of whatever hole it was hiding in.

The first thing Odin noticed was that there were more soldiers patrolling the city than before. Curfews were put in place and restrictions on when torches and cooking fires could be lit were strictly enforced.

According to the maid, there was a Jotun sorcerer who was able to put his eyes in the torch to spy on King Bor’s meeting, “Those beasts are desperate for ways to beat us and have resorted to such underhanded tactics!” she would repeat to everyone as if it was a mantra.

During his lessons, Tyr started teaching about the importance of gathering information and using it as leverage to defeat an enemy. Although it is essential to know your enemy, information gathering is not considered an honorable task and usually left to children or sorcerers. As the prince of the realm, he will probably never have to take on this duty.

Odin dutifully listened, absorbing as much as he could about strategy, enemy intelligence and formations, but every now and then, his mind drifts off to Lokk, how her hair was flaming orange rather than the standard blond, brown and black hair of an Asgardian, or how her muscles were wiry and strong rather than bulky and hulking. Tyr’s question snapped him back to reality. Tyr repeated himself and asked Odin to assess the situation and come up with a possibility profile of the spy.

Odin looked lost and stared blankly for a while, thinking of what to say.

Tyr shook his head, “You have a bright mind, young master, but you still need some practice to think and speak quickly on your feet. It is a requirement if you mean to eventually be king. I expect an answer tomorrow. You are dismissed.”

Odin wandered idly into the crowded marketplace thinking of how to answer Tyr the next day. Gathering what is known, the spy was peering in through a torch, so possibly fire based magic. The ones who usually use fire based magic are the Vanir, which they have no quarrel with, the Dökkálfar, which doesn’t make sense because father had been talking with a messager from Nidavellir - which left the Sons of Muspelheim, fire Jotun. We definitely have quarrel with them, Odin thought. But weren’t they wiped out in the war? Surtur was the only one said to have survived as the rest of their kind sacrificed themselves to ensure their king could return and destroy Asgard during Ragnarök. There certainly aren’t any Sons of Muspelheim on Asgard. They would sure stand out with their rocky exterior and molten flesh - according to the soldiers, you could smell the vegetation burning if one was merely standing nearby. Odin furrowed his brow and absentmindedly sat down on a boulder deep in thought. Fire, child, Jotun, magic, spy, hmmm.

A pang of fear and denial suddenly radiated out from the pit of his stomach to his chest. Connecting the dots, he had to check on Lokk, hopefully he’s just overthinking things. “That’s right,” he tried to convince himself, “halflings usually don’t have enough power to do complicated spells. It couldn’t be her.” But the fact is, Odin knows Lokk is a strong sorceress, even at such a young age. He tried to shake off the feeling of betrayal that his friend might be a spy for the enemy or that she was trying to get close to him to get close to his father.

The house was empty. His heart sank a little. The past few times he went to the ruins, she was nowhere to be found either. He figured she probably wandered off somewhere and forgot about him and he was a little depressed about it, but now, he feared that she may actually have been a spy all along. The rumors mentioned that the spy was injured by a Drawven throwing knife, which could explain Lokk’s abnormally long absence. The enchantments and curses on their weaponry make wounds notoriously hard to heal.

Odin searches all over the village ruins, more determined than before to find the only person he might consider a friend. That is until a narrow hole appeared out of nowhere and dropped him about a meter underground. A head of orange hair popped over the hole, “Did you miss me?” She asked and dropped a rope down.

Grumbling, Odin grabbed on and pulled himself out of the hole and pulled Lokk in for a tight hug. “There was talk about a Jotun spy plotting against Father. I know it wouldn’t have been, but, I had an irrational fear that it was you!” Odin babbled. Although Lokk’s eye was still a little cloudy and red, Odin didn’t seem to notice - or didn’t want to notice.

“Huh, that’s a funny proposition,” Lokk feigned innocence and annoyance, “We’ve been hunting together for nearly two years and I don’t know your name. Plus I have no interest in spying on a stinky old man taking a bath.” 

Odin made a disgusted face and Lokk celebrated successfully diverting the conversation. While it was true that he never told Lokk his name, Lokk knew it was Odin because it was sewn into his hunting pack - and there was only one Odin in the nearby lands.

“Are we going hunting or what?” Lokk rushed to steer Odin’s mind as far away from the previous conversation as possible. What better way than to distract him with hunt - this time they could try their luck with a sand wyvern.

“My name is Odin, by the way,” Odin said. 

Unanswered questions continued to nibble at the back of his head, but for now, he would pretend they didn’t exist and just have some fun with his friend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash forward, Odin and Lokk grow up best of friends. Perhaps Odin is interested in more than just friendship.

The next few centuries, Odin’s attendance was required more and more in the court, adding to his never ending list of princely responsibilities. Whenever he was able to recess, he would disappear and meet with Lokk to hunt and get away - no mentions of his work or background were ever brought up. 

That was one thing he really liked about Lokk, she never seemed to care about titles, history or backgrounds. With her, he wasn’t crowned prince Odin, but just Odin, a random kid she had met in the ruins of an abandoned village. She was always promise of an adventure and a good time - although more times than not, they would end up in rather hairy life or death situations.

He wasn’t completely sure if it was how he actually felt and even less sure when he started developing these feelings, but at some point, Odin realized he might want more from their current friendship than just companionship. Maybe hope of a wife? His father was pushing him for one anyways, might as well be someone of his choosing.

When a hunt for the immortal boar, Sæhrímnir (one that produced legendary bacon) turned into a particularly grueling showdown between a basilisk and a midgardian ajatar, both Odin and Lokk were covered head to toe in blood, slime, acid and poison. Lokk seemed to have taken the brunt of the grime. Both jumped into a nearby stream before any real damage could be done. Odin couldn’t think of a better time to confess as their minds were cleared from battle and their hands were busy from scrubbing their clothes.

Trying to work out how to approach her and confess, Odin fidgeted for words that couldn’t quite make it to his mouth. He gave his clothes a couple more good scrubs and made his way over toward the bank to think about how to start.

Lokk vigorously scrubs her now long, flaming hair and shucks off the soiled tunic for thorough cleaning in the waist-deep stream. She had almost got the biggest stain out when she looked up and notice Odin’s dumb gaping look. “What are you staring at?” she huffs.

“Uhhh nothing,” Odin fidgeted some more and averted his eyes, “I didn’t know women could have flatter chests than men,” he thought to himself. It took his brain a moment to realize he had actually said it out loud and instantly regretted it.

“Oh really? Maybe you haven’t seen that many women, then,” Lokk wickedly smiled as she sauntered out of the water. Hair dripping wet, she leaned over Odin trapping him between her arms and a boulder, purposely giving him a good view of her bare chest.

Odin gulped and shrank down a bit.

“Besides, who ever told you I was a woman?” Lokk asked innocently, standing back at full height studying his nails. 

Wait a minute. Odin had to do a double-take. Did the woman he grow up with, hunted with, fell in love with, just tell him she’s actually a man? Or did she just identify as a man? Had she ever been a woman? Had he just fantasized it all? Was he actually in love with a man? Odin thought he was only attracted to women. Well, guess not, he silently thought. A million different things ran through his brain, while his body remained frozen.

Lokk looked down at Odin, whose face has glazed over as his last two brain cells argued whether Lokk was biologically or mentally male. Lokk was quite tall, even taller than Odin, but he grew up watching the Valkyrior of Folkvanger train and there were plenty of tall, strong women among their ranks. Then there were also the Dwarven and Dökkálfar women, who had deep humming voices like their male counterparts. Particularly tall, muscular women with deep voices never raised any flags that they might not be women, so it was quite understandable that he could have made a mistake with Lokk, he reasoned, who was strong, but not particularly bulky, nor was his voice particularly deep. 

Lokk had apparently been trying to get him to snap out of it for a while when Odin finally gathered the courage to speak again. 

He swallowed hard, “I don’t want to make this too awkward between us, and I would very much like to remain good friends if you do not accept,” Odin rambled as he worked up a sweat, “but I’m interested in initializing the rituals of courtship with you. Will you accept?”

His eyes were so hopeful.

Lokk looked at him incredulously, but checked his facial features quickly, “I’m flattered and although neither men nor women escape my eyes, I’m afraid you are not quite my cup of tea.” Lokk stated flatly. Better to be clear and concise about things like these so there are no misunderstandings and they don’t drag. “I would like to continue our friendship as is, though,” he added. Lokk loved playing pranks and tricks, but he was not one to mess with amorous feelings. He knew how magically binding those could be if one were not careful.

Odin half nodded and started picking up his pack and their hunting spoils. Lokk trudged out of the stream and followed suit. 

They made it back to camp in silence, ate in silence and retired in silence. What was supposed to be bacon so delicious, men would kill their brothers for, instead tasted bland and ashy. (It could also have been because Odin was a terrible cook, but Lokk didn’t want to interrupt his sulking.)

Odin and Lokk bury Sæhrímnir’s bones to let it rise again in the morning. 

During the uncomfortably awkward hike back to the ruins, the two young men shared little words and even less eye contact. The backroad also seemed a lot longer than the path out a few days prior. However the closer they got to the ruins, the more things felt wrong, as if they were being watched.

Both Odin and Lokk were alert, but they were also surrounded. The soldiers closed in on them roughly grabbing Lokk and snapping seidr suppressing cuffs on him just in case he tries to fight back.

Held back by another soldier, Odin shouted, “Unhandled him! I shall have your heads for such insolence!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bor throws Lokk in a cell in suspicion of being a spy. Lokk utilizes his time in the Aesir’s palace.

Lokk’s cell has bright white walls with a crystal clear magic suppressing barrier to keep him inside. He would have expected all the other walls to be lined with runes of a similar nature, but turns out these Asgardians are absolute shit when it comes to seidr and worse when it comes to keeping someone confined - not that he was complaining. These people have no imagination. However this was the closest proximity Lokk had ever been to his origins so he stayed put like a good prisoner to see how things would play out. It didn’t stop him from sending out an invisible clone to scope out the palace though.

In the main halls of the palace, Odin demanded to see his father. It seemed as if Odin waited outside the doors of his father’s study for ages before a page opened them to let him in. 

“Why has my friend done to warrant arrest?” Odin brazenly demanded. 

Bor ignored him and continued to write.

“Release him, Father,” Odin said softening up, “whatever he has done, I vouch for his innocence.”

King Bor looked up, walked over and slapped him across the face in front of the page, who shrank back. “You stupid boy! What do you know about that Jotun? Do you have any idea who that beast is?” Bor shouted, “That thing you call ‘friend’ is the spy we have been searching centuries for! He is the harbinger of the end - of Ragnarök!”

Odin stood wide eyed and frozen. “That’s impossible,” Odin shook his head in disbelief. “We are similar in age and he would have been no more than a child when the last Jotun war ended. I have known him since then and he claims residency here. He bears no ill will towards Asgard, “ he reasoned confidently.

Bor’s expression seemed to calm a little as he remembered he was speaking with his sheltered, ignorant son. “Boy, there is much you need to learn about the realms. How much do you know about the Ragnarök prophecy and the völva who see its events?”

Odin stared straight and Bor sighed.

“A few centuries ago a völva came warning us of the impending Ragnarök. There was a spy listening in on that conversation and that spy is what we have in the dungeon,” Bor tried to explain as calmly as possible, “The visions of the völva and the ancient scriptures also describe the harbinger that matches that beast’s.”

“How can you be so sure?” Odin interrupted, “I remember word had it that the völva took the spy’s ear and eye. Lokk has both intact.”

“There’s no need for me to further explain myself to you, child. He is dangerous. If getting rid of him remotely promises the possibility of avoiding Ragnarök, I will take that chance even if it means the sacrifice of an innocent as any good king would,” Bor said.

Odin bit his lip and looked toward the ground to try and think of what to do.

“What if I declare him my blood brother?” Odin blurted out, still staring at the ground.

Bor’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know what that entails?” he warned. “Don’t be a fool and spout out words without thinking about the meaning behind them. That oath is not an easy one to bear. Oathbreakers will meet a gruesome end.”

“I understand it,” Odin said firmly, “We will be bound as family, swear to speak only truths to each other and vow never to harm the other.”

Both of you must also agree,” Bor continued, switching courses, “but I suppose that binding him to our family will guarantee his loyalty. Perhaps it would be a good idea to share blood with him.”

Odin lifted his head, eyes bright.

“Before you do so, I require him to be put through trials of my own. If he passes those, I give you permission to claim him as your brother, but I will never claim that filth as a son,” Bor listed his conditions. His dislike for Lokk was obvious, but he saw a great potential to utilize such a pet to his advantage. 

* * *

Two guards entered his cell and secured a collar around his neck then seidr dampening cuffs on his wrists and forearms. Immediately, Lokk felt the discomfort of his seidr being blocked, like how it feels when a string forcibly cuts the circulation to a fingertip. Lokk loses his hold on his scouting clone and it disappears.

They brought him and forced him to kneel at the daias. He defiantly sits cross-legged instead and looks up to see Bor on the throne and Odin standing a couple steps below him, right where a crown prince is supposed to be.

Bor’s page took out a long roll of parchment and proceeded to read its contents, “By royal decree, the Jotun beast in present will proceed through three trials. If he is to survive each one, he is granted the opportunity to become blood brother to Odin, per the crown prince’s request.

Odin stood with a smug smile, surly he was patting himself on the back for a negotiation well done.

Lokk rolled his eyes at Odin's ignorance. How kind they are to take pity on this poor orphan child and offer such an honor to be blood brother to the crown prince. He knew the old son of a cowlick was scheming something, but he didn’t have much to lose, so why not? If his cards were played right, Loptr might even be granted access to the royal library. Now there’s a treat!

“I accept,” he clearly answered, keeping his snark in check.

“Your first trial will be a trial by water. As strong Muspel sorcerers are susceptible to water over weaker ones…”

A common misconception, Lokk thought.

“...you must prove that you are innocent of performing spying spells by being submersed in the Asgardian Sea,” the page announced.

Odin quickly turned and looked at his father wide-eyed and ready to argue, but was stopped by Bor’s smug smile and hand signaling for him to hold his tongue. It was dangerous enough for Aesir to be submerged in the Asgardian Sea, let alone a Muspel. Bor was sentencing Lokk to death.

Eyes twinkling at the challenge, Lokk again says clearly, “I accept,” resulting in Odin turning his attention back and staring incredulously, worried about his friend.

Despite his natural body being of fire, Lokk actually enjoyed being in the water. He is also practiced in using two other forms to swim if needed, the form of a seal for speed and one of a salmon for endurance - but of course, no one has to know that.

“The first trial will begin tomorrow at sunrise,” the page concluded, “you will be treated as a guest of the crown prince until then. The guards will show you to your room.”

Arrogance, Lokk analyzed. They think I haven’t escaped because I am unable to, but if that is going to free me of these wretched bonds, I can play the part of the amateur sorcerer.

* * *

The room Lokk was offered had been quite luxurious indeed. He can’t remember ever lying in a bed so soft and comfortable that he almost fell asleep the moment he plopped on it.

Before he could answer the soft knock at the door, two maids entered to prepare him for the feast later that night. They laid down fresh clothes, drew a bath and proceeded to take off his clothes - which prompted Lokk to politely ask them to leave. Not that he minded being undressed, but surely it was another test the old king requested.

He looked towards the bath thinking, why waste it and undressed to allow himself the treat.

Another knock came at his door. Lokk ignored it, trying to indulge in the luxurious bath, but obviously these Asgardians didn’t care about receiving an answer before entering.

Odin rushed into the guest room to find it empty so he continued on to the inner bath chambers and finally found Lokk soaking without a care in the world.

Lokk looked up lazily, “Did you want to join? The bath is quite large.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” Odin said exasperated, “aren’t you worried about tomorrow at all?” He was more than a little angry. “By the looks of it, I doubt my father intends for you to survive the trials. He means to have you killed, if you haven’t noticed,” he said grimly.

Look picked at his nails, “It’s fine,” he said nonchalantly, “I’m a Muspel, but I’m actually a pretty good swimmer - not sure how that worked out though.”

“I don’t think being a good swimmer is going to save you if they tie you to a rock,” Odin paced. “I’m going to try and work it out with Father, but I wanted to talk to you first and see how you were holding up - and I see you like this. Lounging. In a bath.” Odin threw his arms up. He knew what all this meant, the good old Asgardian hospitality. This was the treatment nobility were offered before their execution. He was angry that his father had put someone he could finally call, “friend” in this predicament and angrier that said friend seemed so carefree about his impending death.

Lokk decided he was done soaking and got out of the bath to push Odin out of the room when a third knock came at the door. Two, rather large, out of place manservants entered to escort the crown prince and his dear guest to the feast.

With a quick flourish of his fingers, Lokk was dressed and happily obliged to the invitation.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lokk is put through the first trial.

Lokk knew he probably shouldn’t have drank as much as he did. Two or three barrels are usually nothing - that is, if he wasn’t going through a trial that meant his life or death. Ugh his head was splitting and his ears sounded like they were full of fuzz. He stumbled out of the room obstinately holding back a strong urge to puke while two manservants from the night before returned to escort him to the site of the trial. He was debating on whether or not he should use a spell to get rid of the hangover, but at the same time, he was reluctant to do so because he didn’t know how much seidr he would need for the trial. It probably wouldn’t be too wise to show off the complexity of the spells he could weave given his state either.

Although Odin held back the night before, he was probably as hungover as Lokk was and has his own set of troubles getting out of bed and to the trial site. Nevertheless he somehow made it without falling flat on his face or drowning in a pool of his own vomit.

The icy winds once they got far enough into the sea was quite sobering for both Lokk and Odin, although both still looked quite terrible.

The page took out the scroll and proudly started reading, “Lokk of Muspelheim…”

“Asgard,” Lokk corrected with a mutter through his teeth. He didn’t know much of his past, but he was fairly certain he was conceived and born in the Eternal Realm - present day Asgard.

“...will be caged and submerged in the Asgardian Sea. Should he free himself and swim to the surface, he will be acquitted of charges of creating and using malicious spells unsanctioned by the council,” the page finished.

Taking it as his cue, Lokk flourished with an exaggerated bow and happily hopped into the cage. “See you in a few minutes,” he directed to Odin, flashing a cocky smile.

Bor’s blood boiled at the sight of the creature. He had all the intention of disposing of him through the trials and no intention of actually letting Odin claim him as a brother. Unfortunately, Odin had just reached majority so even Bor cannot dictate who he claims or not. Per Asgardian tradition, as king, he could only suggest trials in order to hinder or discourage the process. He still had the binding spell required of being blood brothers to fall back on should the beast, Norns forbid, survive.

Odin is a bright boy, but naive and has a soft ear for a silver tongue, but what Bor worried about most was none of this. He hated the possibility of allowing a Jotun beast to have power in the court. He tolerates Bestla as a trophy - the once proud high priestess of the Jotun ice maidens, violated and reduced to one of his tightly leashed pets. Now this one. This boy is a candidate for the bringer of the end. Best to either keep him close or keep him dead.

Lokk made sure to put on a face of panic once the cage hit the water and started sinking. They were stupid not to add magic suppressing runes to the cage - maybe they were intending he survive all the trials after all. To add to the theatrics, he let out a steady flow of steam until the cage was completely submerged into the water. Reaching for his seidr, he willed gills to form on his neck and started to shift his form into that of a salmon, purposely creating more air bubbles than necessary. Lokk couldn’t wait to see the disappointment on Bor’s face, but first, he had to nurture Bor’s expectation of drowning him. He only hoped he wouldn’t scare Odin too badly, despite his track record. 

In his smaller form, he easily swam out of the cage and hid under the boat. He waited several more minutes before he started shifting back to his regular form and making his way to the surface. Reaching one hand on the side of the boat, he feigned fatigue and sluggishly pulled himself up gasping for breath like a nearly drowned man before pretending to pass out.

Bor, clearly annoyed, poked at Lokk’s face with his staff to check if he was alive. When there was no response he smiled and bent down for a closer look right as Lokk woke to regurgitating a lung full of water before “passing out” again. Angrily wiping the regurgitated sea water from his face, he made the order to bring them back to shore.

Odin was hovering like a mother hen the whole time and Lokk had to keep reminding himself that he was unconscious, forcing his body to remain limp as they carried him to shore and then back to the palace. He “woke up” confused, but alert just as the healers arrived. Insisting he was fine, Lokk politely bid his farewells and retreated to the guest room.

Odin follows him and knocks on the door soon after he settles in. “I wanted to talk to you.” He said awkwardly.

“Sure, what about?” Lokk asked, still keeping his act up on being exhausted. 

“Let’s call it off,” Odin said. “I don’t want to see my friend going through another one of those trials. They will announce what the second trial is during the feast tonight, but I’m afraid of what it might be.”

Lokk laughed, “I’m sure I can handle myself. Don’t worry. Everything will be okay,” he added reassuringly.

* * *

“The second trial has been decided to be by beast. It was said that the spy lost an eye and ear. Father intends to put you up against one who has taken the berserker serum,” Odin said solemnly. “And he’s not even giving any time for rest. I’m almost inclined to believe father is doing all this for his entertainment,” he suddenly spat angrily. Secretly, Odin knew his father’s intentions, but didn’t want to believe they were real.

“This is a new side to you. If I weren’t one of the parties involved, I would have thought you were a waiting maiden spiting her father for preventing her prince from taking her hand,” Lokk teased as he mockingly kissed Odin’s hand.

Ripping his hand away Odin glared, “Stop being weird. I know where you stand and I’m over it.” 

“You know I’m just teasing,” Lokk laughed, grabbing him into a friendly headlock. 

“I’m serious,” Odin said. “I’ve done a lot of thinking since my confession and I think I may have jumped to an irrational conclusion. I definitely love you,” he declared boldly, “but I’m fairly certain I’m not in love with you. I doubt I can spend the rest of my life with such a reckless person as my mate.”

“You sure? I’ll make a great father,” Lokk continued to tease. Then he switched to a more serious tone, “Thank you for understanding,” he said sincerely. “I’ll be fine tomorrow and we’ll be together as brothers before the week’s end.”

Odin always thought he would be the older brother in their relationship, but he suddenly felt very small and very much more fitting as the younger brother. Maybe it wouldn’t matter at the end of all this. They would be equals.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin and Lokk become brothers. Loptr is in for some unexpected news after the ceremony.

To Bor’s disappointment, the second and third trials were as uneventful as Lokk had promised.

During the second trial, Bor had sent one of his largest berserkers against Lokk to prove he still had the skill and coordination of having both eyes. Lokk just used a basic invisibility spell and waited until the berserker ran out of energy before clocking him over the head with a rock. Had the berserker not been so mad with rage, he would have probably noticed the footprints in the sand that Lokk didn’t bother to hide.

The blunder had Bor tiredly rubbing his forehead the entire time.

The third trial had Lokk blindfolded tied up in a cave near a waterfall. He needed to find his way out through the treacherous bowels of the cave and avoid falling in the water. Lokk secretly snickered that they still hadn’t realized he could shapeshift. He turned into a bat and reached the entrance of the cave nearly as fast as Bor, Odin and the guards had. He shifted back to his normal form, tied the blindfold back on and pretended to feel his way up Bor’s armor. 

“Oh, goodness! I’m so glad I found you! I didn’t think I would make it out this time!” Lokk said, dramatically clinging to whoever was in sight as Bor brushed him away in disgust. “Norns had mercy! Oh I was blind as a bat in that endless cave. I’m so glad I made it out alive,” he blubbered, “Odin, oh sweet Odin! I made it! Oh that means - oh Brother I have made it!” He hugs Odin’s head like a melon and kisses the top of it.

By this time, Odin knew that Lokk had pulled another trick from his sleeve and that he was just doing all the theatrics to be annoying. He struggled to keep his lip from flickering up into a smile.

On the other hand, Bor’s blood was boiling to the point that one of the guards in his entourage had to give him a relaxant to prevent him from turning berserker. Unlike the one from the second trial, the cursed berserker blood that runs in Bor was potent, natural and passed down through generations. Presumably Odin had also inherited the blood, but he had not had any episodes as of yet and it was unsure how Bestla’s Jotun biology would affect the trait. It could also be that his childhood and adolescence came during rather peaceful times.

Lokk vowed to himself to do all he could to push Bor to the tip of his rage any chance he could get. It was a job left to a filial son.

* * *

The royal sorcerer waves a hand above their heads and whispers a spell. “Now I will take your name and Prince Odin will give you one anew.”

Lokk felt his body tremble as his name was taken. He was no longer Lokk and for a moment, he felt all his magic drain with the loss. As Odin declared ”Loptr” his new name, the magic, his seidr, his energy and life force returned at once, stronger than before now that it was tied with Odin.

The sorcerer hands Odin a knife laced with a healing deterrent to cut his right hand and pour his blood into a bowl. He hands Loptr a knife, who does the same. Both spit into the bowl and drink the blood, Odin first then Loptr.

Odin and Loptr clasp hands. The coating on the knife slows their healing and encourages bleeding, as the blood pooled in their cuts mesh and intermingle.

Bor looks on with disgust as he finalizes the ceremony.

“I, Bor, Son of Buri, King of Asgard, hereby give my blessing to Odin Borson and Loptr as blood brothers.”

It is done. The cuts in their hands are slow to heal and will leave a scar as a reminder until their brotherhood is no more.

As they disassembled, Odin and Loptr walked back to their respective rooms to prepare for the feast that night. Odin seemed fine. If anything, he seemed to walk taller, prouder. Loptr, on the other hand, was feeling the onsets of a dizzy spell. Perhaps it was because he was more magically intuned. This right eye throbbed and his chest ached, but he managed to hold himself together until he got into the room. His hand bled profusely and the bleeding only seemed to be getting worse despite such a shallow cut. It seemed as if his body was trying to purge the changes that had happened - the new blood, the new name, the new power, the binding spell as a sign of their brotherhood.

Loptr willed the cut to heal and a sharp pain ran through his chest impaling him. His eye stung and started bleeding down his cheek, or was that the blood from his hand? He couldn’t tell. He gripped his chest in futile attempt to numb the pain, but found he didn’t have to. He blacked out.

“...optr. Wake up. This isn’t funny.” 

Loptr opened his eyes blearily to Odin kneeling beside him on the floor. There was also another body on the floor not too far away. “What happened?” He asked, hand immediately going to his head.

“I heard a crash and a loud beastly roar and I came running to your room. It looks like someone hired an assassin to kill you. I’m not sure what happened, but by the time I got here, he was already dead. It looks like he did a number on you though,” Odin said helping Loptr up. What he left unsaid was that it was likely his father who sent the assassin.

The pain was gone. All except for the throbbing of a minor cut in his hand that had long cauterized.

Loptr took a moment to soak up the scene. The room was a mess with blood smeared all over the floors. The assassin’s body looked like it was torn apart by a wild animal. It was disturbing how Odin dismissed it as if it was perfectly normal to savagely tear apart a would-be assassin, leaving a half eaten carcass. Loptr especially didn’t like that he felt a little full and what the implications could mean. One thing for sure is that he needed to be a little more cautious from now on if he intends on surviving Bor’s court.

Loptr was uncharacteristically quiet and did not eat much during the feast.

“And what’s wrong with you?” Bor growled in a drunken rage, “A runt like you manages to claw your way into our house and now our food isn’t good enough for you?”

Before Loptr could give a diplomatic answer, Odin rushes to his aid, “I think he’s still a little shaken up from the assassin earlier.”

“Oh really?” Bor sneered knowingly, “Boy we didn’t take you in to be unable to handle a measly assassin.”

Odin attempts to come to his aid again arguing that he did handle the assassin, when Loptr holds him back. Loptr grabs the nearest tankard and empties it, then proceeds to slug the next nearest guy to Bor in a demonstration of testosterone driven madness. Chaos ensues as drunkards make merry by beating the shit out of each other. Bor roars with delight and joins the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drunk scene is actually taken from real life! We were at a good friend’s house for a barbecue when we heard her drunk brother yelling at another friend’s new boyfriend about not eating the food. The boyfriend downs a large helping of moonshine that the brother made (I guess an honorable and respectful thing to do in their culture) and they slush each other around. The brother and boyfriend were best friends by the end of the night... how does this even happen in real life?


	9. Chapter 9

Malekith was on the move, a young charismatic Svartálfar revolutionary who sought to reclaim the lands that were once enveloped in darkness - lands he believes, are rightfully theirs.

Eons ago, the Jotuns led by Ymir and the First Aesir led by Buri, harnessed the power of the light to drive the ruling Svartálfar to the edges of Yggdrasil. They retreated deep beneath the crust of a nether-realm, later known as Svartalfheim, hiding, waiting, biding their time until they could once again step foot on the planet’s surface and extend their wings to the skies above. 

That time was now. Being one of the oldest races of Yggdrasil, the Svartálfar’s advancements in technology granted them a chance to once again thrive beyond the darkness.

* * *

“There has been increasing trading activity from the nether-realms with the Kree. We have looked into the contents of the trade and the makeup is largely in the nature of domestic supplies. Their technology, however advanced, does not appear to be in pursuit of anything sinister nor suggest of rebellion,” Odin reports.

Bor grew visibly angrier the longer Odin talked. Whether he was angry at Odin’s report or distracted by Loptr’s happy-go-lucky presence rocking on his feet, one could only guess.

Bor forced himself to nod in acknowledgment of his son’s statement and suggestion. Despite Odin’s report, he remained wary of the Svartálfar. They were a cunning, unforgiving race. Their sudden reemergence, fully equipped to walk in the light, alone, was a cause for concern, whatever the products they were trading. He dismissed the young men, but briefly held Loptr back to give him an assignment. Guess he can’t be the freeloader he had always aspired to be, Loptr mused.

Bor didn’t trust the boy completely, but might as well put him to work to gather intelligence. Maybe then, he could finally prove Loptr was a spy. Or if he was really lucky, maybe an Elven guard would catch him and put him out of his misery - that is, Bor’s misery.

* * *

“I don’t understand why Father still won’t trust me,” Odin growled as he punched through another training post. 

Loptr smirked hanging upside down from a third post, his hair falling like a flaming waterfall that ended in a pool on the dirt floor. “If it makes you feel better, I doubt he trusts me either. The old goat is testing my abilities. Thanks to the binding spell, I can’t lie to family,” he spat. “I’m sure your father is hoping I run into hostile Elves and get ‘accidentally’ killed off world. No one would ever know,” he nonchalantly said. “It would be a bonus if I found him some intel along the way. It would sure give Bor another reason for war.”

Odin gave him a look. He questioned if Loptr actually believed Bor was trying to have him killed. Odin knew the answer even though he refused to acknowledge it.

Loptr, on the other hand, didn’t have to believe it. He knew. It didn’t offend him. He was certain the assassin that waited for him after the ceremony months ago was sent by Bor. Bor didn’t count on Loptr inheriting the berserker blood from their family and coincidentally having an episode at that moment the assassin was about to strike. Such a thing was unheard of and it never occurred to Bor it would be possible until he heard the report.

“Another reason would be that you,” he said, poking Odin in the chest, “would have to travel by ship or bifrost. They would see you coming from galaxies away. I, on the other hand,” he boasted, “can travel much more discreetly,” as he hid away from view, allowing his voice as the only guidance as to where he was. Bor has forced his hand in revealing the information earlier. Curse the spell.

“When do you leave?” Odin asked into the emptiness of the training room.

Loptr popped back into view, eyes narrowed, “You don’t actually believe I would fall for that, do you?” he said skeptically. Even a casual eavesdropper could hear the intention behind Odin’s question. “You know Bor would have a legitimate reason to take my head if I put his only son and heir in the path of danger.”

“Well, I doubt those Dark Elves are up to anything, but if they are, I want in,” Odin justified. Then his lip sneered up, “Plus, the little adventure will drive Father up a wall. You didn’t say that he specifically forbade me to go.”

Loptr needed no more convincing. An opportunity to anger Bor was all the reason necessary. “You have yourself a deal, Brother.” Wrapping his arm around Odin’s neck in a headlock, “Where did you learn to be so cunning with your words.”

“Only from the best,” Odin laughed.

“Okay. We leave now. Already minutes too late!” Loptr said hurriedly, closing his eyes to ask Yggdrasil to grow a branch for him. As the branch grew, a hidden path opened and he pulled Odin through before he was able to protest.

“Mind your step, Dear Brother. It’s a long way down if you slip.” Loptr said in a sing-song voice.

“I don’t see why we had to leave immediately. We’re unprepared and we have not packed,” Odin complained. “And since when have you been able to open paths with your own power? I thought you had to find them.”

“I want to be back to see a play a group of thespians are putting on next week,” Loptr said.

Odin frowned at the trivial reason.

“And _you_ are unprepared and have not packed - I have everything we need,” Loptr corrected. Odin didn’t have reason to doubt him.

“Also, to answer your question, I have been able to do this for a great long while. I did have to find them at first, but then I realized all I needed to do was ask Yggdrasil to help out. For some reason, she always does.”

“Yggdrasil is a she now…” Odin mutters.

“Oy! Don’t mock her,” Loptr warned as he stood in his steps. “Especially not here. She’ll drop you,” he said before he resumed his continual fast pace.

Odin was practically dragged along trying not to lose his footing on the smooth branches of Ygg. He was thankful Loptr didn’t let go of his arm or else he would have surely fallen by now. Colors flashed beside him reminding him of traveling by bifrost.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long they had been traveling, but after what seemed like hours, Loptr abruptly stopped. Again, he asked Yggdrasil to grow a branch for him. Sure enough, a thin young branch grew and thickened for them to walk on, dropping the two men off in a safe deserted location on Svartalfheim as requested.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a walk in the park on Svartalfheim - until it wasn't.

The skies had been treated to artificially create a dense cloud shielding the surface from light. The surface itself was nearly pitch black - far too dark for any Asgardian to see. Albeit still a little dim for his eyes, Odin, for once, thanked his mother’s Jotun blood to allow him to see in such an environment. Loptr, on the other hand, being a Muspel, was completely blind in the darkness and was only able to “see” by partially shifting to a bat.

They crouched over a hill overlooking the capital city, staying low to avoid attracting any wandering eyes. For a Svartálfar, the city was as bright as can be, just as day on Asgard. For Odin, it looked like eternal night illuminated by smoldering torchlight. For Loptr, unassisted, his eyes only saw faint silhouettes. They observed, as the Svartálfar busied themselves with their work. From the distance they looked like busy ants droning around the great factories that covered every part of the city. Cargo ships littered the sky with crates upon crates of imports and exports. 

Svartalfheim was in the midst of an economic boom.

Cloaking both of them with an invisibility spell, Loptr and Odin walked freely in the city. The place was completely devoid of nature, there was just no room for such imperfection, such inefficiency, such uncontrolled chaos. The Svartálfar themselves seemed to be happy functioning as mechanical cogs in the great machine. In all honesty, it did feel peaceful, safe. In fact, the only unstructured part of the city was the park where the children wildly played without the supervision of their parents. The little time they spent in the capital city had already proved these people were content with their boring mundane lifestyle. Now, to see if the country folk felt the same way.

They spent days scouring the planet to look for the countryside only to find city after carbon-copy city. It was by pure accident that they stumbled upon a couple of Elves talking about visiting their parents in the countryside underground. Of course - they had spent thousands of years underground after Ymir and Buri‘s war before they sprung up again in the past few decades or so.

* * *

Making their way below the surface proved to be harder than they thought. Whether it was natural or artificial, Svartalfheim’s crust had some kind of magic dampening property. Whatever it was, Loptr was acutely aware that using magic took nearly twice the effort as it was supposed to. His seidr was quickly depleting.

They would likely have to cut their countryside visit short lest risk be found out when he has to drop the invisibility cloak or lose sight again. He abruptly paused for a moment to catch his breath.

“Everything alright?” Odin asked, concerned.

Loptr’s right eye twitched and he quickly put his hand over it to stop the pulsing. He wasn’t using his eyes to see at the moment anyways. “Uh yeah, I think so. I don’t know how long I can keep us hidden. This place is draining me fast. Let’s hurry, gather some information and get back to the surface. We’ll need to come back more prepared next time. There’s definitely something going on here and I don’t like it.”

Odin took the warning seriously. Something worrying Loptr is definitely something worth worrying about. 

They sprinted through the countryside keeping their ears open for any gossip or rumors about rebellion. Loptr made a mental note of all the places he “saw” fire - kitchens, factories, smithes. Even if he wasn’t able to perform efficiently in physical body, perhaps he can use a spell to spy instead. He uttered a quiet curse that these people didn’t need or use any torches for lighting. The lack of torchlight certainly made his job a lot harder.

It happened fast. 

Loptr staggered a little grabbing onto anything for balance.

That “anything” happened to be Odin.

His heart started beating unnaturally fast as vertigo and nausea took over again. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but the disorientation felt hauntingly similar to what had happened the night he and Odin became brothers. His face was slick with sweat - or was it blood? His eye ached badly. 

Odin grabbed his trembling shoulders, “Loptr, what’s wrong?” Odin knew it was nothing good at the sound of Loptr’s heavy breathing and the glazed look on his normally bright eyes. His right eye appeared as if it was pulsating an angry green as blood streaked down his face like tears. Something was very wrong, indeed.

Odin threw Loptr over his shoulder like a sack of grains so they could make their way back to the surface. Hopefully whatever was affecting Loptr would loosen its grip once they reached above ground.

Loptr let out a strained “oomph,” as the wind was knocked out of him and he was thrown over Odin’s shoulder. The sudden touch and movement gave him a moment’s clarity. His mind clicked. If the corpse of his would-be assassin was his doing, he needed to get Odin as far away from him as possible.

“Brother,” Loptr panted deliriously, “y...you need to get out of here.” He lost hold of the invisibility spell shielding them from view.

He willed his limbs to struggle against Odin’s strong grip. “Stop moving around. You are unwell and we need to get you back to the top. Maybe I can ask the gatekeeper to bring us back with the bifrost,” Odin comforted, trying to mask how frazzled he was.

Loptr purposely continued to thrash and flail his long limbs until Odin lost balance, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The headache worsened. Loptr bit the inside of his cheek to force himself to focus, but his consciousness only slipped further with the copper taste of his own blood. His head was spinning and he needed to throw up. Elven authorities were approaching to see what the commotion was about. 

Running out of both time and options, Loptr shoved Odin onto a newly sprouted branch of Yggdrasil with his last bit of strength and asked her to send him to safety.

Yggdrasil wrapped Odin up in her vines and unceremoniously dumped him at Asgard’s borders. She didn’t particularly like Odin, but she will entertain Loptr’s request.

Frustrated, Odin yelled for it to bring him back to Svartalfheim, but was thoroughly ignored. Yggdrasil has dropped him off at the very far edge of Asgard and it was a long way back. Angrily, Odin marched back to the palace, thinking about how to confront his father to retrieve Loptr.

Odin had knew of his father’s distaste of Loptr, but always remained willfully ignorant to the petty dialogue exchanged. It wasn’t until Loptr, himself, put it into words that Odin could no longer ignore it. He knew his father would not willingly retrieve Loptr. But maybe he could use the fact that his father hadn’t known Odin left the realm with Loptr to his advantage. Or maybe bank on his father’s warmongering tendencies to bring them there. Asgard’s full force should be enough to bring a quick end to any skirmish on Svartalfheim. Odin ran back to the capital. He needed an excuse to go off world and return quickly.

* * *

Still underground in Svartalfheim, Loptr was in the same exact spot where he sent Odin away. The last thing Loptr remembered the feeling of hands manhandling him and hearing a roar so loud and feral, it chilled him to the core.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loptr’s capture and Odin jumping off the deep end into a dumb plan.

“...-is is why we need to unite. This is why we need to fight back and stop cowering in the shadows. All of the four realms came from us! Came from the darkness. It is our right to reclaim our lands!”

When Loptr came to, he was in the presence of someone making a rousing speech to a sparse, but growing crowd. That was when he realized he was next to the speaker, tied to a pike and restrained by the most efficient seidr suppressing bondage he had ever seen. The feeling of accumulated seidr in his body was agonizing and suffocating. Seidr was normally free flowing - a continuous current of energy traveling in and out of the body, just like breathing. Suppressing a sorcerer’s seidr is likened to forcing one to take a deep breath and sealing all the orifices, prohibiting spent air from escaping and fresh air from entering. 

Loptr shook the fatigue and disorientation out of his clouded mind as he struggled to remember what exactly had transpired to land him in this predicament - tied up, apparently bloody and on public display. Surely nothing good.

There were 14 small enshrined memorials at the foot of the makeshift stage as the speaker, Malekith, addressed the people with confidence and charisma, hoping they would join his cause. Most of the Svartálfar agreed with his words, but had been too content with their efficient routine lives to act upon anything or bring about change. 

A moment like this, was one Malekith had been waiting for.

One where a foreign aggressor, one of mixed Jotun and Aesir blood at that, had stepped foot on their sacred soil and brutally, savagely, publicly, took the lives of 14 Svartálfar in cold blood. 

Loptr was still piecing together his fragmented memories when a pebble hit him. The crowd, which had already grown tenfold in size, had started chanting “murderer” in an adrenaline charged, crazed frenzy, while throwing things at him. 

It was a stark contrast to the docile, compliant peoples he had encountered on the planet’s surface. Based on their raging anger and his current bodily condition, he had no doubt he had caused a cataclysmic event.

* * *

“King Bor, I bear dire news,” Odin formally addressed, “I request an emergency council as this is a matter of the existence of the four realms.”

Bor had been getting bored of the peace. With the progression of events, things were looking up for him again. Finally his son has decided to address him correctly, that pest, Loptr, is offworld and prospects of battle have arisen. Maybe if he were really lucky, war would help trigger the latent berserker blood in his son yet.

It angered Bor that Loptr, through the blood exchange, exhibited traits of the berserker line while, Odin having inherited the blood directly, still remained dormant. It must have been Bestla’s tainted Jotun blood inhibiting the battle rage, he cursed.

The council of elders filed in, filling the seats on either side of Bor as Odin remained standing in the center.

“Councilmen, I have called you here to address a detail that I may have formerly missed while investigating the activities of the Dark Elves and their recent trade activities,” Odin started, first admitting to fault. “In recent days, I have personally visited a number of trading posts and I have reason to believe they are plotting something heinous from right under our noses. Their economy has been booming when just a scant few decade ago they were merely lost relics that only existed in history books.”

He had the ears of the councilmen.

“I think their aim is to buy a certain artifact from the Collector,” Odin said, purposely cryptic.

Odin wasn’t sure what kind of powerful artifacts the Collector had, but surely as an Elder of the Universe, it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to extrapolate that he might have some kind of powerful item the Dark Elves may want. He’ll just let the councilmen draw their own conclusions as to what that artifact may be and roll with it.

The councilmen murmured among themselves, occasionally whispering to Bor. Bor sat on his throne nodding to indicate he was listening. He looked calm on the surface, but Odin was sure excitement was bubbling underneath. Bor may not know Odin well, but Odin knows Bor’s temperament and train of thought like the back of his hand. It wasn’t hard, really. Bor would march to Knowhere, full army in tow and demand the artifact, whatever it was. Then he would taunt the Dark Elves with the artifact (that they had not been looking for) and defeat them with it. In the meantime, Odin would find a chance to reclaim Loptr.

“Prepare the Skíðblaðnir. We leave for Knowhere in the morn,” Bor merrily announced. “If those dirty elves want the reality stone, they will have to go through us!”

It all sounded wonderful, taking the stone for safekeeping, when in reality, Bor was just preparing for a raid to loot the Collector.

Odin filed the information into the back of his mind for later use. If anything, he’ll have to do some more research in this “reality stone.” He could barely keep himself from smiling, knowing that his plan had been set in motion and moving smoothly.

* * *

Loptr watched as Malekith approached his cell, bulky body guards surrounding him. He looked about a similar age as Odin, but even more princely than the heir of Asgard, despite the abolishment of the Svartálfar monarchy before light was even born.

Loptr shifted a to relieve some of the stress on his shoulders from being tied up.

“So when’s the execution?” He said casually.

Malekith gave a strained fake smile ignoring Loptr, “I would like to thank you, actually. You’ve helped me accomplish what I’ve dedicated centuries to do, in a matter of minutes.” 

Loptr knew Malekith meant, unite and mobilize the Svartálfar against a common enemy. It was his fault, Asgard’s fault, for attacking and killing Svartálfar civilians unprovoked. Malekith wanted war. If the rest of the Svartálfar didn’t want war before, they sure did now.

Malekith paced in front of the warded cell purposely letting the hilt of his sword bang against the bars. The wards were much more sophisticated and fool proof than those ridiculous spell tags in Asgard’s prison.

“As a gesture of thanks, you will be released,” Malekith said. “Not now, of course, but when the time is right.”

“And if I choose not to leave? It’s quite comfy here. I don’t have to worry about people sneaking behind to backstab me when I can assume anyone I meet here is hostile,” Loptr said nonchalantly, testing the waters. “It really puts one’s mind at ease.”

If he put enough distance between him and Asgard or maybe get the citizens to find justice in killing him, war won’t come to fruition. He doubted Bor would care whether he lived or died. He just hoped Odin doesn’t do anything stupid to agitate the situation. 

From what he gathered, Malekith and his group of outcasts were extremists shunned from regular Svartálfar society for wanting war. Loptr’s unfortunate loss of control was the perfect tragedy Malekith was waiting for to gain more traction among the common folk in demonizing the light dwelling realms.

“Excellent! I was hoping you would want to stay,” Malekith lips curved up into a vicious smile, “I really wanted to get to know you more. Find out how you tick. It’s unusual enough to run across a Muspel, let alone a Muspel with Buri’s berserker bloodline.”

Loptr walked right into the trap. He kept his face neutral, but couldn’t help the defiance in his eyes from shining through.

“Ah, you didn’t know,” Malekith squatted until he was eye level with Loptr in the cell. “We can make these discoveries together,” Malekith nodded with mockery and pity, “I’ll help you find out more about your blood and you help me with everything else.” He gave Loptr’s face a few pats and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loptr thought he was being snarky and defiant on this one. Joke might be on him this time.
> 
> In this story, I think Odin, Loptr and Malekith could have become great friends if it weren’t for the circumstances. More like, the Loptr here is such a happy go lucky wild child that he could naturally make friends with anyone. Odin is the serious one and Malekith is the one that tends to go a tad too far. Both are drawn to Loptr like moths to a flame.


	12. Chapter 12

Bor laughed maniacally as the Aether entered him. He was expecting the Collector to have a legendary weapon or strong firepower which shared the reality stone name, but never had he imagined _the_ actual infinity stone. It was a pity that such a powerful item had been sitting idly in a collection for who knows how long. Needless to say, the Aether is in much better hands now, with promise of being used.

To test its abilities Bor willed the Aether to warp reality, erasing all traces of their raid as a parting gift. There would be no signs that the Asgardians had ever set foot on Knowhere. Conveniently, the Collector, a fearful man, would never admit to anyone he had ever had an infinity stone in his possession.

The Asgardians celebrated their Aesir King’s return from a successful raid with a feast. All (Asgardians) who lived in the land were invited and expected to attend.

“Asgardians! It is with great joy that I announce our return with the acquisition of an artifact that will strengthen our realm and secure our sovereignty over all,” King Bor addressed his soldiers and his people. “Tonight we feast. Tomorrow we FIGHT!” The crowd cheered, soldiers eager to show off the crop of their training, merchants eager to show off the prowess of their weaponry and craftsmanship that near matched the Dökkálfar Dwarves of Nidavellir.

Odin observed from the corner of the dias, absorbing as much as he could. This was the level of charisma, of assertiveness, he needed to be King. Bor commanded the people, the winds of their thought, the waves of their livelihood. Odin took mental note that to be king, he would demand this control over his people.

The Einherjar were preparing for war. In the coming days, messengers between the realms will communicate to determine the time and place of the first battle. Bor always thought of himself a civilized leader. His rules of war made a point to inform the enemy army what their intentions were and where they will be fighting. Whether, Tyr, being the Aesir in charge of defensive warfare, followed through with Bor’s ideology every time, was another story. More often than not, Tyr would act accordingly to his own plans and win Bor the war. Bor would be too busy basking in the glow of a war won to question Tyr’s sometimes, “underhanded“ tactics. In all honesty, Bor cared more to talk about virtue than actually following through with it. Unlike his father, Odin didn’t mind cheating in a game. Contrary to Bor’s belief, Tyr had secretly taught Odin that cheating was always acceptable. In war, cheating is also called outmaneuvering. Anything goes as long as one’s own resources are kept safe and a possibility of gaining enemy resources remain on the table.

* * *

It wasn’t a proposal, it was a demand. At this point, Loptr was a little more than a kept pet. He was given a room, furnished, lighted for comfortability, stocked with food and entertainment, but heavily warded and guarded. The little times he had spent out of the room, he was barely conscious enough to notice any vulnerabilities in security to use as leverage.

At certain times, based on the meals, sometimes morning, sometimes midday, sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes multiple times a day, he would be plucked from the room and dropped off in the middle of a combat center by the Elves’ automations. There he would be subject to various stimuli. 

Initially, he thought they were merely accessing his abilities. He played along, often feigning incompetence. A few sessions in, to his horror, Loptr realized they weren’t accessing his fighting ability, but were aiming to find triggers his blackouts.

Triggers that succeeded had been hit or miss at first, but the Elven technology was advanced and their techniques less than ethical. Before long, they found the string and pulled. Loptr unraveled.

With no way to tell time other than the food he was given, Loptr had trouble gauging how long his blackouts lasted. With the subtle differences in the air, he even started to doubt whether he was kept in the same room after each blackout. He grew angry. Angrier and angrier, he cursed Bor for his blood, cursed himself for being so stupid to let himself be put in such a predicament, cursed Malekith for being a greedy bastard, cursed Ymir and Buri for putting the Svartálfar in their current situation. The angrier he got, the more he seemed to blackout. Before long, it didn’t bother him so much anymore. Malekith was probably using him to scare more of the Svartálfar into joining the cause. Showing him off as a rabid beast for all to see. Loptr gave up on thinking about what was done to him during his blackouts. Whatever done, was done. Now he welcomed them, he relinquished his control and allowed the rage to take over.

Today was different. He had no idea how long he had been a prisoner on Svartalfheim, but there was something about _today_. Must be something in the air. The automations plucked him out of his quarters and dropped him off in an empty, pristine white room that reminded him of Asgard’s prison.

The room wasn’t guarded nor warded. He had full access to his seidr. Loptr surprised himself that there was still a part of him that held on to a glimmer of hope that he could escape and fix this. He needed to know what the outside was like. Whether the outside was still salvageable. He teleported a clone, in the shape of a bat to investigate.

Malekith entered the room alone - a little worse for the wear, but in high spirits. “I would like to thank you for your continued assistance. Things have progressed wonderfully,” he started. “I have personally come to inform you of your release today.”

Loptr eyes him skeptically unable to hide his mistrust. “You’re not afraid I will kill you here and now?”

Malekith gave a snarl of a smile, “You won’t,” he said simply. “I’ll have you know, I have upheld my end of the bargain.” Malekith slips a rune stick in Loptr’s clothes and gives the pocket a pat. “You’re free to go.”

An opening appears from a wall of the room as Malekith offers Loptr his freedom in a polite “after you” gesture.

* * *

So it wasn’t an illusion. The outside world was just as his little bat had showed him. It still appeared relatively peaceful. The factories were running and the Elves busied themselves in production. But there _was_ an undeniable tension in the air. A delicate teetering of a realm on the brink of war - only, he wasn’t sure how much of the realm was aware of it.

Malekith lightly stepped out after him. “Welcome to our capitol, the busiest and most densely populated city in Svartalfheim. You will probably be able to find a ship or other way to get back to Asgard from here,” he said in a pretentious, grand sweeping gesture.

“Oh and one more thing, a parting gift,” Malekith added as Loptr was looking around scanning the city. Malekith sliced his own hand with a blade and smeared the blood over Loptr’s face and lips. Then with a swift motion he shoved the blade into Loptr’s chest, calculated not to hit anything vital. 

A delayed reaction. Loptr cursed himself for being caught off guard again. Normally he wasn’t so careless as to making such foolish mistakes, but his unknown period of imprisonment and experimentation had left him destitute and disoriented.

A shaky hand found his way to the dagger in attempt to futilely yank it out. He wasn’t sure whether it was the weakness he felt or if the blade was cursed to remain embedded, but the dagger would not budge and Malekith was long gone. The wound itself wasn’t bad. Blood trickled through his fingers, but what was worse was that he was severely hemorrhaging seidr. All efforts to heal the wound and keep his seidr inside his body just resulted in more seidr pouring out. 

With the sudden depletion of his seidr, and the encouragement of blood in his nose and mouth, the rage took over faster than it ever had before. Dropped off right in the middle of a bustling city, Loptr had no chance of hiding or running to an isolated spot. There was just dread - a helpless prequel to the impending massacre.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bor and Malekith meet. Odin finds Loptr in pretty bad shape.

It was midday, but as dark as midnight when bifrost touched down on Svartalfheim unleashing the Asgardian troops. Vanir and Losálfar and Dökkálfar mages under Asgardian employment parted the artificial clouds allowing the soldiers to see while at the same time partially blinding the Svartálfar’s sensitive eyes.

Odin followed as Bor stepped out of the bifrost’s beam. He had seen many battles in his young life, but this was the first actual war he would be a participant in. 

Malekith stood calmly adorned in a light proof mask waiting to meet Bor.

For such a long lived race, Bor was surprised they chose such a young leader who was probably barely older than Odin. Most of those that fought Ymir and Buri all those eons ago were likely still alive today.

“Boy, take me to your leader, I don’t have time to talk with children,” Bor said dismissively.

Malekith chuckled, “You’re looking at him. I’m Malekith, descendant of the last King of Svartalfheim.”

“Do not mock me. I will not talk to a low born imposter who’s breath still stinks of his mother’s milk,” Bor chided. He was losing his patience. “Bring me your superior and there is still possibility of negotiation. Further delay will be treated as an act of defiance and we will relieve your officials of their duties.”

Malekith was biding his time for his men to set up the device to trigger Bor’s blood. The months Loptr spent in their care gave them enough time to effectively isolate the berserker signature and design a weapon to stir it to an agitated state.

But first, he needed to get the Crown Prince mutt out of the picture. Easy enough. There was surveillance evidence of the Crown Prince’s presence near Loptr right before his capture. A Muspel mutt and a Jotun mutt, brothers - both carrying the berserker line. Excellent, Malekith mused.

It had been nearly 16 months since Odin saw Loptr. Odin wondered what trivia Malekith was up to when he casted a projection of someone engaged in a one sided fight. A closer look and Odin was both relieved to know that Loptr was alive and in fighting shape, save for the dagger lodged in his chest, while equally enraged to find he was reduced to little more than a mindless beast, slaughtering all in his way and…consuming their flesh.

Odin paled in worry. Bor looked amused. Now Loptr was really the beast he had been all this time. Not even Asgardian berserkers eat their prey.

“My King,” Odin bowed, requesting to act freely and retrieve Loptr.

Before he even asked, Bor granted permission and waved his son away. Wielding the Aether would be more than enough to defeat Malekith. He didn’t need his son’s brooding.

Odin less than discreetly took off to find Loptr in the city, but the only thing that followed him was Malekith’s eyes.

“Now that the princeling has gone, I trust we can get down to business,” Malekith mumbled into an invisible communication device.

Bor began to move in protest when something invisible impacted him. No wounds were to be found, but he felt his blood boil. 

Immediately seeing the signs, Tyr rushed to administer the calming agent, but was incapacitated by Bor’s broadsword. The Einherjar closest to him grabbed Tyr and moved to safety to make way for their king to do his damage.

Malekith sent their own version of berserkers, the Kursed, to meet Bor and the Asgardians. Moving to higher ground, Malekith watched the scene of the battle unfold as if he were playing a game of chess, shifting formation patterns as the situation called for. With Bor in a crazed state, Tyr heavily wounded before the battle even began and Odin out of the way, the lack of direction and leadership in the Asgardian forces foreshadowed an easy battle on this day. We will take some losses, but we will be victorious, Malekith thought.

Now he had to figure out what was giving Bor a power boost and corrupting his being. He felt the foreign power Bor had recently acquired humming beneath the surface of his skin. Something he wasn’t quite used to yet. Something immensely powerful. Something that definitely wasn’t there when Malekith spent time as a child spy for the ice Jotuns during the last great war.

An Elder Svartálfar leaned over to whisper his findings to Malekith. His face contorted into a malicious smile. “Excellent. Now we have a means to return the realms to darkness. Get the pod ready,” he ordered, “We will prepare to extract the Aether as soon as the blood burns out.” 

He wasn’t sure how long Bor could keep fighting in this state, but observations from experimenting with Loptr indicates the blood inadvertently burns out regardless of how much seidr or vitality or willpower one has, all of which Loptr had an abundance of.

* * *

Odin watched Loptr rip into a body from a safe distance. Coming from a family famous for their berserker blood and from a people who invented the serum, Odin knew better than to recklessly approach. Bodies littered the streets and most of the civilians were either dead or had already cleared out of the area.

Another hour passed. Odin was unsure how long Loptr had been in such a state, but he was finally showing signs of slowing down. His movements looked sluggish as if he had a bit too much to drink. There was a deep ache in Odin’s chest seeing Loptr in such a state.

Once he saw an opportunity, Odin slowly approached as if sneaking up on a wild horse, careful not to spook Loptr or set him off. All these centuries hunting with Loptr had greatly improved his stealth, but still, he couldn’t escape Loptr’s keen eyesight, especially now that the thick clouds in the sky have cleared and day was once again visible.

He looked up with a snarl, immediately catching sight of Odin. His normal bright green eyes ferally glowed with anger. Refusing to give up ground, Odin maintained eye contact and continued to shorten their distance. Surprisingly, their closing proximity seems to quell Loptr’s enraged state. His expression calmed and his eyes dulled. When Odin was finally close enough, he put pressure on Loptr’s chest and with the other hand pulled the dagger out - along with it, all the energy that had been keeping Loptr standing.

Crumpled on the ground and exhausted, Loptr’s eyes and mind finally began to regain clarity. Still a little dazed, he forced his body to sit up and look around at the mess he had caused in a stupor. It probably wasn’t a good idea. He retched at the sight of the half eaten people, throwing up the Svartálfar flesh he had consumed. He caught a brief image of Odin from the corner of his eye before blacking out again.


	14. Chapter 14

The new wave Svartálfar with their advanced magic and tech proved to be formidable opponents. The Asgardians suffered great losses and were forced into a temporary retreat.

Bodies of the wounded littered the bifrost observatory floor waiting to be processed. Those that held rank were already transported to the palace.

Odin sat at the lower steps of the dias with his head in his hands. His mind had only been set on getting Loptr back. He hadn’t expected this outcome. And the outcome was an utter disaster.

Bor was alive, unconscious and resting, but they had lost the Aether. The tables took a sharp turn as Bor started to slow down. He was plucked into the air in stasis as Malekith pointed an unusual device at Bor, sucking the Aether out and depositing it into a warded tube. Odin arrived just in time to defend the King before Malekith finished him off.

Tyr is in dire condition with severe damage to his torso and an amputated sword arm. The healers had barely stabilized him and had to put him in a restorative sleep. He got too close to Bor as he was entering his beastly berserker state. Likely, he would never see battle again.

Loptr - Odin knew what to do. Ignoring the healers’ protests, he dragged Loptr’s body outside and to the surprise of any witnesses present, set his body on fire. For days, Odin remained rooted and let Loptr’s body burn, tending to the flames when needed to ensure the fire didn't go out. The only time he left his spot was to get more firewood. People secretly gawked at their Prince’s odd behavior, but did not dare speak up in opposition.

Nearly two weeks had passed. Bor had already slept off the after effects of his berserker state and was up and about planning in the war room with the councilmen, while Loptr still remained unresponsive in the center of the fire. Rather than continue feeding the fire, Odin let the fire burn out. Loptr sat, knees drawn in and curled up at the center - whole, fully healed, catatonic. 

Any of Odin’s efforts to coax a response were futile. The healers insisted Loptr was whole in body and soul, but were baffled at why he remained unresponsive.

Odin steered Loptr to his own room and sat him down on the bed as he blankly stared into the distance. “Loptr, do you know where we are?” 

No response.

Odin waited a few moments and was getting increasingly frustrated, “This joke has proceeded for far too long. We are in the middle of a war with the Dark Elves. Tyr is out of the picture, Father handed the enemies our ultimate weapon and…” Odin ranted, trying to stir a response, “and I’m not sure what to do,” he said in a smaller voice.

No response.

He was more than ready for Loptr to break character and laugh tauntingly at him for falling for his tricks again, but was disappointed when it didn’t happen. He sighed. “Rest here a bit. I sure hope you are alright in there.” As Odin rose from the bed to leave, a rune stick fell out of Loptr’s clothes with a clack.

Another delayed reaction. The door had already closed behind Odin before Loptr’s haunted, dull eyes shifted down to focus on the rune stick. Slowly, mechanically, he bent down to pick it up.

Malekith’s visage appeared as it activated, “As I have told you, I always hold up my end of the bargain. By the time you have activated this rune stick, I trust you are already comfortably back on Asgard. I can’t promise what will happen to your friends there, but I will guarantee your safety,” he said. “In addition, I have catalogued your information in five different files: Your Natural Blood, The Berserker Bloodline, Triggers, Effects and my personal gift to you, Leads on How to Control It,” Malekith listed. “Now, you may ask why I am being so kind to you? As I had mentioned before, I’m interested in you. You are something very special - one of a kind. Perhaps in the future we may even find ourselves on the same side!” he said enthusiastically. “This is also my token of gratitude and good will for your efforts in my cause. I trust with this gift, we are considered even.”

Malekith’s visage disappeared, but the five titles remained. Loptr’s hands automatically moved to one of the titles to view its contents.

* * *

Odin was in his usual spot on the training grounds destroying more training posts after a particularly heated tactical, or rather, lack of tactical, discussion with Bor. The old King refused anything short of a head on mad rush towards the enemy without consideration of field advantages, leveraging their strengths or capitalizing on the enemy’s weaknesses. Without Tyr to act as the voice of reason, no one could get through to Bor.

Odin knew they could still win the war, but they will need to be smart about it. The biggest threat to their army was the Aether. Without it, Asgard could easily stomp out the Elven resistance, whether by raw muscle or by sheer number. As formidable as the Kurse were, they were few and far between. Although the rebel Svartálfar were numerous enough to form a small army, they were still far from offering a true representation for the whole of Svartalfheim, a point that Odin suggested they could use to their advantage - Bor disagreed.

Trying to find another angle of approach, Odin started looking into the Aether a bit more. He really wished he could consult with Loptr on the matter. His knowledge of light magic, dark magic, obscure spells and artifacts were parallel led by no other on the realm. Odin had to settle on consulting with the few available Losálfar sorcerers, hoping their age and experience would glean some knowledge about the Aether. 

According to the ancient Losálfar scrolls, the Aether is an infinity stone whose essence serves as the very base of reality. He who controls the Aether, controls reality. Odin was alarmed at the new information. They had less time than he had hoped and they would have to act fast. Since Asgard is still presently intact, either the Dark Elves haven’t figured out what they stole, or they have yet to figure out how to properly wield it. 

Odin doubted even Bor knew how to properly use the Aether, else they would have subjugated Svartalfheim already.

A servant ran into the training hall. With a frantic almost forgotten curtsy, “Y-your Highness, Iapologizefordisturbingyourtraining,” she blurted.

He eyed her in silence to allow her to continue.

“Master Loptr is missing.”

Odin’s eyes flew wide. He ran out of the training hall towards Loptr’s room like the bifrost keeping up with a pegasus’s hooves.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loptr looks for help on how to manage his condition and stumbles upon Bestla’s room. They chat and he comes to a revelation on how he came about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hints of abuse and rape here.

Loptr walked and walked. First to the edge of Asgard then hopping onto the branches of Yggdrasil, he continued walking down, down, down until he finally reached her trunk. He was used to walking her branches, but he had never ventured so far down to see her trunk. She was large. He estimated at least a few galaxies in girth. What surprised him most was the amount of fauna that lived in this plane of existence - little furry squirrel-like creatures flitted about up and down her trunk chattering and carrying gossip wherever they go, giant hawks that flew between her branches, world snakes that slithered around her roots. 

_He_ was looking for a very particular place at the pit of where Jotunheim’s branch junctioned Asgard’s branch which ultimately melded into the trunk - a place called the Ironwood. Malekith has said a seer who lives there would be able to help Loptr, that is, if she felt like it. From the endless chatter of the squirrels, it seems seers from the Ironwood are notoriously fickle. And apparently they hate men. That could be fixed.

There it is. Loptr peered into the little nook at Ygg’s pit and saw an unnaturally bright, lit cottage that sat in the middle of tall, dank, ice covered trees. It was as if the cottage itself occupied a different realm than that of its surroundings. Loptr adjusted her skirts to make sure she felt every bit a woman she currently looked before making her way to the house.

Stepping into the cottage’s garden must have set off some kind of ward because a hatchet was thrown in her direction and before she knew it, a strong gust of icy wind blew her back towards Yggdrasil carrying her far among the branches back to Asgard.

Loptr landed in the eastern tower of the palace with a graceless thunk. That was weird. She was usually pretty good at detecting warded spaces. It was pretty clear she wasn’t welcome in the Ironwood despite being a woman. He shifted back to his normal form as he got up.

“Who’s there?” a familiar voice asked. A large woman sat hidden behind a curtain.

Loptr was curious why someone would be hidden in her own room. The more burning question was why she sounded so much like…

“Nal,” Loptr addressed tentatively.

The woman froze, brushing aside the curtain to see who her intruder was. “Nal is no more. That woman was foolish enough to fall in love with a Muspel and long disintegrated,” she said sadly. 

Chains clinked softly with her movement.

Loptr held back a look of disgust of just how she was restrained. Large hoops dug into her calves locking between her leg bones to ensure she could never run. Her flesh had long healed over the hoops, but it was likely still painful to walk. The chains gave her enough leeway to walk throughout the room, but nothing more.

“I am Bestla, Nal’s twin sister.”

Odin’s mother.

Loptr didn’t know where Nal was, but she couldn’t have disintegrated. He was a Muspel and she cared for him like a mother, showing no signs of distress - up until Bor and the Asgardian forces destroyed their village. He was reminded of his hate for Bor and his longing for Nal, feelings that had been casted away to the back of his mind for centuries were resurfacing, bubbling up and threatening to boil over like superheated seawater. There was a faint ache in the back of his eye but he ignored it. He needed to know more.

“When was the last time you saw her?” he asked, pressing a palm over his eye. The headache was coming too.

“Come sit down child, you don’t look well,” she said, patting the generously cushioned spot on the chaise next to her. She was small for a Jotun, but again so was Nal. He was rather small for a Muspel as well - a rarity with flawless skin.

Loptr almost staggered into the seat. It was an unusual feeling, being so close to someone who looked identical to Nal, but wasn’t her. It was...soothing. The headache was receding and his eye stopped pulsating. As if the ambient cold emitting from her skin calmed his boiling blood - that’s it! No wonder Bor named Bestla his Queen.

He chuckled to himself, the seer of the Ironwood was kind to him after all.

Once she saw Loptr calm himself, she started again. “I caught a glimpse of her with Sutur the night I was taken from Jotunheim,” she said, “Bor abducted me from the temple and forced me to become his wife. Luckily Nal and Sutur made it out with the Casket without being discovered.” She smiled and paused, “And don’t you go telling anyone about the Casket.”

Her smile was so familiar it made Loptr’s heart ache. “I won’t,” he said in a small voice.

“Now tell me child, how did you get to know my dear sister?” Bestla questioned. For a young man his age to know Nal, she must have lived longer than Bestla thought she did.

“We lived together. She raised me until Bor leveled our village,” Loptr said.

Bestla’s voice thickened with emotion and hopefulness, “You are her son?” 

Loptr didn’t realize his eyes were watering up until tears dropped onto his lap, “I would love to claim so, but she was not the one who birthed me.” It hurt to admit.

“I was made.” 

Loptr’s eyes grew wide with surprise. The words slipped out as if it was fact when in actuality, it was knowledge that he just gained himself, hearing it for the first time from his own mouth. The scariest part was, something deeply coded within him recognized it as truth.

Bestla studied Loptr’s revelation with quiet interest. The boy had kept secrets about himself that he didn’t even know.

She put a large hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright, child?”

Her voice broke him free of his grasping thoughts, “I will be,” he promised. “I think there are memories I need to sort out. There had been a lot of unanswered questions that I had chosen to ignore in favor of living in the present and I do not think I can afford to ignore them any longer.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling a stranger so many things - actually he knew exactly why. He couldn’t help keeping her separate from Nal. The tone of her voice, the warm, caring gestures, the calming effect she had on him, it all reminded him of - home.

“I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, but you may find some answers in a small cave near ice beach hidden by the tide. It was Nal and my favorite hiding spot when we were children, before the Asgardians stole our land and pushed us back to Jotunheim.”

Loptr looked up from the cushions to meet Bestla’s eyes.

“I suggest you hurry, now that it’s still low tide.”

Loptr felt refreshed as if some weight had been taken off his shoulders. He had figured out how to keep his beastly side in check (yet to be tested) and he had some new leads about his past. That was more than enough fuel to keep his mind occupied and the nagging thoughts of his time in Svartalfheim banished and locked away for a while. 

“Thank you, Queen Bestla,” Loptr said, turning on his charm level to maximum, “you do not know how much our conversation means to me. I will return.”

“Perhaps you can repay me with your name then,” she retorted, “I can’t see myself forever calling you ‘child’ if I am to assume you will drop by every now and then.”

“Please excuse my rudeness,” he said formally, “My name is Loptr.”

Bestla raised an eyebrow, “Your real name,” she clarified, her eyes penetrated him like Nal’s did whenever he was caught lying. She knew he was Odin’s blood brother. He’s hard to miss with the rumored flaming hair and piercing green eyes. Plus, Bor couldn’t stop cursing the child the day Odin and Loptr became brothers. The brute was so angry he even had it in him to take out his anger on her that night.

Loptr had to think. The name that he was given at “birth” and lived with for over a millennia felt distant and foreign, but the moment he remembered, a surge of familiar power coursed through him. 

“Lokk,” he said. “My name is Lokk.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I flubbed. I missed a chapter when posting. This is real chapter 16...
> 
> Sorry.

“Brother!” Loptr shouted, grabbing Odin into a headlock. 

“Loptr, I’m glad you are well, but this is hardly the time. Where have you been? The servants said you were gone!” Odin said. He was genuinely happy Loptr was back, but equally frustrated that he disappeared without a word after acting strangely. “I looked all over for you.” “Ah, about that...” Loptr started. “We are in the middle of a war with the Svartálfar and we need to win,” Odin said cut him off a little more snappily than he would have liked. Odin continued his brisk walk to the war room for another meeting.

“I was just looking for you to talk about that. I think I have a plan,” Loptr said, stopping Odin in his tracks. “How much of your Jotun abilities can you access?”

* * *

Malekith marveled at the Aether. Its powers would amplify his magic abilities far beyond any Svartálfar alive. For generations magic had been shunned in favor of technology and its underuse has shriveled their blood’s magical potential to that of a mere Asgardian. However, the Aether’s power is great. For now, he could only wield it for hours at a time - if it allowed him. He has been itching to try letting the Aether take over his body as he had seen with Bor, but the elders had strongly advised against it and threatened to disband if he disobeyed. 

“Those short-sighted old fools don’t know its potential,” he mumbled to himself after a taxing, but exhilarating session with the Aether. He returned to his rooms to record his findings on a rune stick.

* * *

“I will not have my warriors resort to such underhanded methods!” Bor shouted angrily, veins popping from his temple. “There is no honor in sneaking around like snakes. I should have Loptr’s head for this insolence!”

“This was my idea alone,” Odin shouted back, raising his voice. It was true. Loptr had another plan in mind.

“Then you are less fit to be the Crown Prince than I thought,” Bor spat slamming his fist on the desk.

The war council shrank to the background as the two Aesir verbally sparred. Loptr passively observed with his back leaning on one of the many pillars that decorated the room.

“The Elves have taken the Aether,” Odin said, calming down, “If you insist on proceeding with your lack of strategy, men will not be the only thing you will be losing to the Svartálfar.”

“You,” Bor sneered with hate, “You are no son of mine. Guards, arrest this traitor and his brother. We march on Svartalfheim tonight.”

Odin struggled against the guards, but even his mighty strength was overwhelmed by the multiple elite guards restraining him. Loptr docilely allowed his arrest and followed their lead to the dungeons.

Loptr's attention was kept occupied thinking of a contingency plan, but first they would need to escape Asgard, which should be relatively easy. Bor’s dungeons were not exactly tailor made to hold magic users. Their haphazard wards were easily bypassed unlike the ones on Svartálfar cells. Those, even Loptr was impressed by.

Loptr was brought back by Odin’s angry yelling and pounding on the warded and magically electrified wall keeping them inside. It was the white room. A haunted look flashed across Loptr’s eyes, unnoticed by Odin. The terrible memories of Svartalfheim, of his own monstrous self cannibalising his victims, bubbled to the surface of his mind. Perhaps Bestla’s gift hadn’t been enough. Loptr put a shaky hand to his eye while the other reached towards Odin’s shoulder. The ache instantly receded at the touch allowing him to weave his spell.

“Loptr,” Odin turned at the touch, alarmed at Loptr’s ragged breathing.

Loptr ignored his brother’s call and continued to weave the intricate spell. He was reluctant to do it at first, but if he wanted to remain functional, he would have to isolate and bind his memories. They would still be there, but they would no longer be his. It would just be as if watching someone else’s tragedy.

When he finished, Loptr squeezed his eyes in relief and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Everything is fine now. Thank you, Brother.” 

Earlier that day, Loptr would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed that Odin had never explored his Jotun heritage or tapped into his powers, but luckily his latent ability to cool himself still did the trick to control the beast.

Odin nodded, wary that the beast was the only thing ailing Loptr.

“Are you coming?” Loptr asked from outside of the cell. He turned off the force field to let Odin walk through.

* * *

“Why didn’t you just ask her to grow another branch,” Odin asked curiously.

They were back in the training grounds using the old branch they originally used when Loptr left for his mission. “Why make her waste all that energy when one is nearby?” Loptr asked back. “When I ask her to grow a branch for me, it is a request. She can always choose not to do it,” he explained.

“We’re taking a shortcut this time,” Loptr abruptly said, nearly without warning. In fact, the only warning he gave was linking arms with Odin and jumping to a branch far below them. Odin was more or less pulled along. It was a wonder that they landed safely on the narrow branch despite the distance they had jumped from.

They exited through the narrow branch out into an undeveloped area between big cities. Loptr didn’t bother with stealth or cloaking them this time. The point was to draw Malekith to the surface of the planet along with the Aether. They needed as many eyes on them as possible.

“Dark Elf,” Loptr addressed, voice magically enhanced to boom throughout the realm, “My brother, son of Bor, tells me your name is Malekith. We have come to strike a bargain.”

“Are you sure he’ll come? Hours have passed and not a critter has yet come to cross our path,” Odin said skeptically.

“Which is precisely the confirmation we need. The Elves know to avoid this place meaning something big must be coming.”

All parties knew that with the Elven technology, finding their exact location and traveling there would not take half a day, but surely half a day after Loptr’s broadcast, a small ship flew leisurely into view.

Malekith stepped out along with Algrim. “Welcome back, my dear Muspel,” Malekith said, opening his arms. 

Despite turning the tables in Asgard, he looked more fragile than before. Before, he looked like a pompous pampered prince, but now he just looked… papery.”

“What made you so sure I would come back?” 

“Your thirst for knowledge, your hate for Bor, your taste of our…” Malekith purposely paused and sneered, “...technology.”

Odin looked at Loptr to see his reaction. It was clear what Malekith was alluding to, but Loptr stood unflinching, eerily calm and composed.

“Let’s cut the small talk and get down to the matter. We have been disowned by Bor and by Asgard. You give me the Aether, and I hand you the keys to Asgard. From a tactical standpoint, once you have Asgard, you can take over the other three realms or do whatever you please,” Loptr said confidently.

“And why should I do that? With the Aether, we are already poised to take all the realms with or without your intervention.”

“But you have neither the seidr nor spiritual energy to keep up with it,” Loptr guessed, stating it as if it were fact. He let a swirl of magic gather in front of him, the red of his seidr, luring the red of the Aether. 

Malekith felt the Aether humming from the canister hidden in his robes. 

“According to my brother, Bor seemed to hold up fine having the Aether dwell within him for months.“

There was a difference in having enough energy and spirit to start a war with a more powerful enemy and having enough spirit energy to feed an infinity stone. 

Malekith’s silence proved Loptr had called his bluff. Maybe in another millennia or three, Malekith will be strong enough to wield it, but for now, he is much too green. 

“So what will it be?” Odin cut in. 

“Why should I trust you, son of Bor, Muspel?” Malekith sneered.

“Shall we make it a challenge for holmgang?” Odin asked back, taking an intimidating step forward.

Malekith rolled his eyes and Loptr really wanted to face-palm. Why was Odin so oblivious to other realms to even suggest such a ridiculous thing? It would also force them to reveal their names - something Loptr was hoping to keep to themselves for as long as possible. Names have power. Especially for powerful beings like the Aesir. 

He weighted his options. There might be an advantage if they did give their names. If he could get Malekith to feel like they are on equal terms, maybe they could still talk.

“Your savage customs do little to aid in your credibility, son of Bor.”

Loptr was just about to open his mouth to speak when the roar of the bifrost interrupted them. 

A group of warriors rushed to recapture Odin and Loptr, while another group attacked Malekith and Algrim. A change of plans were needed.

Bor stepped out of the bifrost’s light ready for battle. The royal sorcerers had already administered the suppressant and were ready with spells should the berserker be forcibly coaxed out. They would control the progression of the battle this time.

Algrim fought protecting Malekith as they were on the retreat back to their ship.

This time, Loptr did fight back. He twisted out of a warrior’s iron grip and sent a magically charged dagger flying towards Malekith’s head before he was further restrained.

Malekith caught the dagger with ease as if he knew it was coming. Recognizing the red-charged energy signal, he slipped the dagger in his armor and ducked into the ship, temporarily taking off to safety.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin and Loptr are captured. Bor finds a new secret weapon.

The Asgardians set up camp near the spot the bifrost touched down. 

Odin and Loptr were wrestled to their knees in front of Bor.

“I’m a fair King,” Bor stated plainly. It sounded like he said it more to convince himself than anyone else. “What do you have to explain for yourselves?”

Both brothers remained defiantly silent. There was nothing to explain. No excuses. Only reasonings that Bor already made clear he wouldn’t listen to. Odin didn’t understand Bor’s logic about honor at all. What was the honor in dying in battle early and waiting forever until Ragnarök comes? Why not fight smart and live to see more glorious battles before dying?

“Tyr would disagree,” Odin cut in, hoping to throw Tyr’s good name around as leverage.

“Tyr is **dead**!” Bor bellowed. “And it would do you good to remember that strength is what wins the war!” he warned.

Odin was in denial. His eyes darted back and forth as he stared holes into the ground.

That was impossible. Tyr was invincible. He was a gifted soldier and once in a lifetime tactician, a master of defensive warfare and _the_ god of war. He won a battle with one hand holding his intestines inside his body during the last war. There’s no way he would have died from just a severed hand.

To add salt to the wound, Odin caught the last few words that came out of Bor’s mouth during his rant, “... you will be relieved of your title as crown prince, effective upon our return to Asgard.”

Odin was seething with a low boiling anger as his inner self threatened to unleash his wrath. Odin’s logical mind, and likely Jotun blood, were the only things holding the beast down. He swallowed the anger and opted to observe instead, quietly absorbing the information on how a king was supposed to act. It will be beneficial once he replaces Bor. No one will dare question his decisions.

Loptr layed low trying not to bring attention to himself, knowing Bor would latch onto any excuse to kill him. The last thing he needed was to wildly lash out and attack the king, but he found it harder and harder to contain his berserker side. True, it was a disappointment to be captured when he was about to negotiate, but in all honesty, it did not merit the rage he was currently feeling. Loptr shifted closer to Odin hoping his blood would help calm the rising anger, only to find Odin struggling with it himself. 

Odin’s inner turmoil sure didn’t help Loptr’s own struggle to keep the beast at bay, but something was different. Something inside him was actively trying to push the monster out as if to physically purge it from his body. His eye burned this time and his control was slipping.

Bor recognized the signs of an awakening berserker and gave the order to have him restrained. The boy was losing control and the suppressants weren’t working as well on him as it did a standard Asgardian. His heat was burning the elixir off faster than it could work. A low growl escaped from Loptr before his body went completely still - the calm before the storm.

The royal sorcerers were summoned to step in and cast a water elemental spell they developed specifically for restraining the Muspel, a spell that won them the Aesir-Jotun war. Chains made from aragonite sea rock from the vernal pools of Jotunheim replaced the warded cuffs Loptr had on to freeze the berserker and dampen his natural heat emission. The chains were able to slow the burn, but did nothing to put out the fire.

Odin struggled against his bonds and tried to reach Loptr in an attempt to calm him but ended up being pulled even further away by the guards holding him. Crown prince or not, he was still Bor’s son. They had a duty to secure his safety even if he was a current prisoner.

Loptr’s skin was cracking to reveal something more along the lines of Muspel nature. However, instead of molten flesh under rock hard skin, Loptr’s pale flawless skin gave way to licking flames underneath. Restraining Loptr proved to be much more of a challenge as he was the first Muspel berserker in existence. Not only had his strength increased tenfold, but his lack of self preservation and ability to command fire and magic made Loptr an impossible target to safely keep restrained. The aragonite chains were superheated to melting point practically dripping off his wrists.

With the combined efforts of the sorcerers’ spells, multiple doses of suppressant, and a new set of chains, they finally managed to subdue the half-crazed Muspel. Restrained, but still feral.

Still in his berserker state, Bor noticed Loptr’s eye glowed an angry green drawing his undivided attention. The green was calling to him. Bor held Loptr’s head still with one hand for a thorough inspection and laughed hysterically. He leaned in to speak into Loptr’s ear knowing full well that he was too far gone, drowned in the berserker blood, to comprehend the words.

“Boy, you are full of surprises.”

With a quick fluid motion, Bor dug his finger in Loptr’s skull and plucked out his eye. A monstrous scream resonated throughout the camp. And then there was silence. 

The pain brought Loptr back to his senses, but the sensation of having his eye ripped out sent his body into shock and back into unconsciousness.

“Take him away. Make sure he is restrained and makes no contact with Odin.”

Odin couldn’t see what had happened, but he did hear the chilling howl followed by the guards dragging Loptr’s limp body away.

“What did you do to him!” Odin shouted angrily, struggling against the guards’ strength again.

Bor turned around in a wonderful mood, wiping his bloody hand and throwing the cloth aside. Nothing could take the smile off his face as he could barely contain his giggles. Ignoring the question, he just looked toward his son and signaled for the guards to lock him up.

* * *

The enemy ships were approaching from the morning horizon. Bor looked into the distance.

He may have lost the Aether, but now he has the power of another infinity stone at his disposal.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malekith is losing the war. With a final plea for help, he hopes Loptr and Odin will join him in at least salvaging what’s left of Svartalfheim.

It hurt. The pain of losing his eye was bearable, but something else was taken along with it. The feeling of emptiness permeated throughout Loptr’s body. It was the loss of seidr - not simply like the time Malekith bled it from him, for that could always be replenished, but this... _this_ felt like an irreversible loss. He couldn’t exactly put a finger on it.

He woke up to find he was enveloped in the warmth of a nicely burning fire instead of restrained by those damned water chains and trapped in a cage. Loptr absorbed the fire into his body, taking in as much energy as he could and tried to sit up, only to find his limbs unwilling to obey.

“Don’t move around so much and just relax.”

“Brother,” he acknowledged weakly. “Where are we?”

“Safe,” Odin replied. “I grabbed you as soon as the battle began and ran. We should be somewhere deep under Svartalfheim. Bor’s men shouldn’t be able to find us anytime soon, if they’re even looking,” he added bitterly.

Loptr groaned. “Help me up. I need to get back to the surface.”

“You need to stay here and relax,” Odin said, putting a firm hand on Loptr’s chest to keep him down.

He needed to get out. The magic suppressant was suffocating and he really needed to reassess how much seidr he still had his disposal. There was an uncomfortable void inside him and without knowing the extent of the damage, it would be hard to heal. Loptr brushed Odin’s hand off sluggishly, struggling to sit up and fighting against the spinning in his head.

A knock came at the panel that had offered them privacy. A Dark Elf entered bringing bandages and left as quietly as he came in.

Loptr stared cautiously with his guard up the whole time. He let himself collapse back onto the fire pit as soon as the Elf left. 

Putting an arm over his forehead. “I take it we’re under Malekith’s care,” he said calmly, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

“His soldiers found us and brought us in.”

Unmoving, “Are we prisoners or deserters?” Loptr asked.

“Neither. Malekith made an order that we are free to go whenever we like.”

Loptr gave a tired chuckle. He couldn’t help but be wary after what had happened last time. Odin was too naive to trust them. “I highly doubt that. We would probably be better off out there.”

“What, should I have just left you bleeding out in the cage?” Odin was still angry from earlier and he was getting really annoyed at Loptr’s snarky attitude. 

“What difference does it make? We walked out of Bor’s cage and right into Malekith’s.”

“The difference is that you’re not dead!” Odin barked, roughly pulling Loptr up by his collar. Loptr didn’t have the energy nor the will to fight back. He just let himself dangle limply off Odin’s grip. “I doubt Bor had any intention to let you live.”

The sudden movement disturbed Loptr’s wound and blood oozed out of the empty eye socket. 

“I’m glad you finally admit it,” Loptr sneered.

Realizing what he was doing, Odin caught himself and helped Loptr sit up, frantically putting a clean bandage to the wound to stem the bleeding. “S-sorry.”

Odin ignored the comment and finished cleaning the wound.

Breaking the stifling silence, Loptr touched the bandage. “This… shouldn’t be necessary.” He was a little hesitant as if not knowing the truth of his words. “I should be able to fix this once I can use my magic again.”

Odin looked worried. Maybe Loptr didn’t know the extent of the injury. “The eye is ruined. It was completely taken out,” he informed. People don’t usually regrow limbs once they are lost - even Muspel with their molten lava-like bodies are unable to do so.

Loptr rolled onto his knees and slowly pulled himself up. “I’ll be fine.” His head felt like it weighed tons, but he gritted his teeth and worked through it, determined to leave, with or without Odin. Rather than put unnecessary strain on his seidr with partial transformation, he conjured a floating light to illuminate the way.

He made slow and steady progress out of their makeshift room and through the open air corridors when he heard the patter of footsteps and felt Odin’s shaggy blond head pop up from under his arm to support him.

“I was hoping you two would stay a little longer,” Malekith said from a nearby speaker. Of course he was watching. A door slid open and he walked through. “This is a safe place for you. Rest until that eye gets better.” 

Malekith was battleworn. Even without seidr, Loptr could tell the Aether was eating at Malekith probably more than he wanted. The deep red of the Aether’s corruption was already clawing its way into the blue of his irises.

Loptr gave a cocky smirk, and went in to taunt, “Considering our offer now, are we? It looks like you _are_ in desperate need of help if you still can’t finish off Bor even with an infinity stone on your side.”

Malekith didn’t fall for the bait. With a new stone introduced to the playing field, he knew he was losing the war. Rather than a mad grab to reclaim their lost lands, he switched his focus to salvaging what remains of their planet.

“I need more practice using it,” he admitted, “but we are in too deep to let this war go. There is no longer a place for you in Asgard. Stand by me and help us.” Malekith’s voice was so raw, so young, it was almost a squeak. 

For the first time since they met, Loptr realized he may have severely overestimated Malekith’s age. He must be a few centuries younger. He was just a boy disillusioned with the hope that he could go against the Asgardian race and possibly win. Loptr shook his head seeing a bit of his old self in Malekith. As much as he hated Bor, he couldn’t do anything to hurt Asgard. It was home and the last bit of connection he had with Nal. Plus, there are no other know Muspel survivors around, but that’s a different story.

Odin shifted a little, “Even if they reject us, our alliance still lies with Asgard. If not with its king, at least with its people. I sincerely thank you for your hospitality while we were here, but I can not abandon them. I will try to reason with King Bor and perhaps we can come to an agreement,” Odin promised.

Malekith stepped aside to let the two leave. 

“Muspel, you forgot this,” he said, taking out Loptr’s dagger, flipping it and handing it back, hilt first. 

Loptr had instinctively flinched, but straightened himself willing the weakness away for a moment. “Use it to contact me if you are in dire need. My name is Loptr by the way.”

“Odin,” Odin added with a nod. And with that, they left.

Malekith watched until they made their way to an opening and teleported up onto the surface.

* * *

Bor was now in possession of the recently awakened time stone. Like the Aether, it had been sitting dormant and unused for centuries. A shame. Bor made sure to give it good regular exercise. After all, one of its greatest powers was to offer its user the foresight of possibilities, allowing the intentional avoidance of undesirable outcomes. The only thing standing in his way of destroying the Svartálfar army was the nature of the Aether’s fluidity. As the stone that bends reality, the Aether renders the future near unpredictable. Keyword being _near_. It’s wielder was still young and did not have the raw power to bring it to potential yet.

The time stone was largely responsible for pulling the war back to their advantage - although there was still a considerable amount of collateral damage. But that’s not something for Bor to worry about. He was here to win a war, to prove a point and to seek revenge from the sorry pieces of shit that lost him Tyr.

Malekith was surprised when Bor returned with another infinity stone. Infinity stones were not easy to come by. For Bor to find two in a matter of months, Malekith wondered what kind of outside forces were at play. Additionally, this infinity stone felt familiar. As if he had encountered it before.

Just barely dodging a flash of green, Malekith blocked the next attack with a black hole shield formed by the Aether. After much observation, it seems the only thing effective against the infinity stone powered attacks were experimental bombs that formed a small-scale black hole. Bor’s attacks were sped up to an impossible speed to catch without anything less than a weapon of the same caliber. Anything he touched withered with age. 

That’s what it was. The time stone. 

Malekith scanned the battlefield. The battle had only just begun, but he was already feeling the pull of the Aether stretching his energy thin. But now that he knew what he was dealing with, maybe he could shift the reality around Bor think he was still fighting and trap him in a time bubble. The time stone will surely protect its user to ensure its continuous use forcing Bor to fight the battle for eternity. It is going to take immense concentration to pull off his plan, but he will end this war soon. He gave the signal to unleash all the Kurse warriors. They should be able to buy him some time to recuperate from using the Aether. Malekith swore. Their sacrifice will always be remembered.


	19. Chapter 19

Loptr was right, he was truly desperate now, Malekith thought. Within days, Bor had nearly decimated the planet’s population. Any city he touched withered. Those that remain standing are only standing because he hadn’t got to them yet. The countryside follows the cities. 

Bor’s constant talk about cordial warfare and fighting a war with honor all those months prior to the first battle proved to be just talk. Malekith assessed the damages of the most recent surprise attack. All the Kurse soldiers have been dispatched and all the Kurse stones were gone save for the few experimental ones Algrim managed to salvage from the ruins of their headquarters. 

Malekith chuckled to himself bitterly, the Svartálfar who were lucky, were already off-world before the war started. There is only death here. His arrogance has doomed their entire race to die.

Steeling his will and gritting his teeth, Malekith needed to end this today, while Svartalfheim was still worth saving.

Algrim fought hard to shield him from the Einherjar’s relentless attacks. Malekith had one chance and he needed to get as close to Bor as he could to ensure it would work.

He gathered his energies and fed it to the Aether, willing it to form a reality bubble to forever trap Bor. Excited by the prospects of being used to its potential, the Aether playfully pulled at Malekith. At his energies, at his soul. More and more, its corruption will spread and soon it will gain a living body.

Malekith willed reality to reconstruct itself around Bor. It was working. Algrim called the soldiers back into retreat as the warriors were slowly replaced by figments created by the reality stone. Layer upon layer, Malekith weaved the reality, more detail, more vibrance, more life-like action. Blood trickled down his nose and deep red had almost taken over the electric blue in his eyes. The illusion was almost perfect, sharp, solid, self-sustaining.

Sensing the end of its use being near, the Aether became more aggressive in securing its hold on Malekith. 

Malekith’s consciousness was slipping, or rather his autonomy was. He knew the Aether was trying to engulf him, but at this point, he was too entangled within its grasp to fight it. He was horrified at what this war had become, what he had led his people to. He only wanted to take back what was rightfully theirs. The Svartálfar may prefer living in the shadows, but many have forgotten, the shadows were where life began. Why must they squander underground, wasting away in the sidelines of the universe while the light dwellers roamed in the open? Why didn’t Bor just fall over and die? Why were the common folk so stuck in their ways that they would rather die than face conflict? Why did he have to care about them? Why? Why? Why? Why Us! 

Subconsciously Malekith drew Loptr’s dagger and stabbed himself. He regained a moment of autonomy and screamed out, “Loptr, Odin, please. Help me.”

* * *

Teleporting was painful, but as they reached Svartalfheim’s surface, Loptr’s magic returned to him in a rush. His body absorbed the ambient energies restoring his seidr reserves that had been suppressed for so long. It was exhilarating. The void in his magic reserves was still there, but at least he finally felt more or less whole again. He could ignore the pull of void until he had time to deal with it.

Odin put Loptr down unsure if he should still be supporting him. 

Loptr ripped off the bandages covering his new right eye. Taking on his features to restore his sight in the darkness, he finally turned to Odin and chirped, “See! Got my eye back.”

Odin squeezed Loptr’s face for a closer look and waved his hand in front of the formally missing right eye. “You can see out of it?”

Loptr slapped the hand out of his face, “Not exactly in this dark, but yes with proper lighting. I’m a shapeshifter, remember? I could even grow a third eye if I want to,” he said as an extra eye emerged from his forehead and then disappeared. “I guess I am an eyeball’s worth less dense in matter though, or maybe I should opt to be a tad shorter. Is it slightly cooler where you are, dear Brother?”

Now he was just showing off. Odin made a disgusted face. Loptr didn’t look that much shorter, but he did look different. Odin wasn’t sure if it was the low light environment, but Loptr’s eyes had lost their shine. The glint of mischief was still there, but the captivating glow of power was no more.

“So what now?”

“I’m not sure. But by the way things look, we should probably try to move some of the common folk out of this realm,” Loptr said. Being one of the last of his kind, he did not want to subject anyone to that kind of isolation.

Odin furrowed his brows, “Will you be alright on your own? I need head back to the court and hopefully work with the councilmen to spare the Svartálfar from mass genocide.”

“I should be fine. I’m bringing them to a planet near Jotunheim. There should be no shortage of Jotuns there given the proximity,” Loptr jested. He shifted his form again to take on Svartálfar features. “Good luck, Brother.”

“Gatekeeper. Bring me back!” Odin boomed. 

Loptr shifted again. The Svartálfar wouldn’t trust just anyone, especially not one with Jotun and Aesir blood in his veins (was it really that apparent?) - they needed a familiar face. This time, he took the face of a very injured Malekith. He made a clone in the shape of Algrim. Together “they” stumbled into the city hall and ordered an evacuation. A third clone with a plain looking Svartálfar face led them to an “underground cave system,” where in reality he was actually leading them through the branches of Yggdrasil to a habitable backwater planet nearby. “Malekith” urged them to stay hidden there until the danger has passed and someone comes to fetch them. Turning up his charm, he asks for volunteers to get those in the countryside to safety.

Loptr wasn’t sure how many trips he had taken back and forth, but there was a steady stream of Svartálfar leaving their homes and hiding out in presumably “the deeper caves.”

He owed Yggdrasil a big favor and would be happy to obey her wishes should she be willing to ask of them.

Then he heard a call. Distant at first, but he was sure it was Malekith’s voice. Except it wasn’t booming or dripping in charisma like it normally was. This voice was small, helpless and almost frantic.

He left his clones to continue the evacuation and focused his seidr to find Malekith


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin returns to Asgard to stop a war while Loptr stays in Svartalfheim to deal with Bor.

Odin rushed towards the palace as soon as he arrived on Asgard. Crowned prince or not, he was a citizen and a citizen had the right to call upon the council.

“Your Highness,” Councilman Ran addressed. “What urgent matters bring you here.”

“Call off the war,” Odin said.

“I beg your pardon,” Ran said, raising her eyebrows in mock blasé surprise.

“The war is pointless. The Svartálfar are no more than worker ants and the minority faction leading the uprising is being crushed as we speak.” He tried to sweeten his reasoning with some flattery, “Their measly excuse for an army was no match for the Einherjar and we have more than enough leverage to gain control of their resources. If King Bor insists on continuing with this tirade just to prove a point, there will be nothing for Asgard to gain.”

Ran was giving it some thought.

“The Svartálfar have technology greatly more advanced than even ours. If we were to make use of it, we can further strengthen our armies and perhaps even extend our influence to new realms. Councilman, you must realize how important it is to stop King Bor now.”

The young prince was right. King Bor did have a tendency to go overboard. Without Tyr to reign him back in, he is just a raging wildfire destroying everything in his path. The whole war was just an exercise to relieve Bor of his boredom. He had been itching for war for centuries and this was the perfect excuse.

“I must discuss this with the others,” Ran said, “I will send for you when we have reached an agreement.”

That was more painless than Odin thought. He was prepared to annoy them until they listened. Perhaps this war wasn’t as popular with the council than he was led to believe.

* * *

Loptr found Malekith on his knees, stoic and “alone” on the battlefield. His icy blue eyes completely red, hijacked by the Aether’s essence. Bor, Algrim and soldiers on both sides were suspended in their own realities - none were able to break free long enough to realize what was happening in the real world.

“Malekith,” Loptr shook him, “Malekith!” He was unresponsive, trapped in his own mind by an infinity stone. A blood stained dagger was on the ground next to him as a long trail of his own blood stained his clothes, but the wound was erased by reality itself.

From the corner of his eye, Loptr noticed another being corrupted, eyes glowing an unnatural, but familiar green. He cautiously stalked towards Bor’s suspended form. 

Something was calling to Loptr.

Another infinity stone? He plucked the little green stone out of Bor’s broadsword and pushed it around with his thumb in his hand. It glittered as if happily greeting Loptr.

Curious, he thought. This was… mine. 

Frozen in thought, he absentmindedly watched as Bor continued to imagine himself fighting in his own reality. He could end Bor right now. All the villagers would be avenged. All the Muspel would be avenged. Nal would be avenged. But Odin would be crushed.

Instinctively, he put the stone against his new eye and let it absorb back in. The stone invigorated his ailing energies and immediately the aching void within him was filled. He felt complete. The stone was his eye, or rather, his eye had been the stone. But how could he not notice an infinity stone in his body all this time? How did no one else notice? Who put it there? Maybe he could ask Bestla for her insight on the matter.

He glanced at Malekith with pity. Loptr wasn’t exactly sure how being corrupted by an infinity stone felt like. Was he corrupted by it himself? He sure didn’t feel any different. Loptr smiled. He could always...experiment.

“Poor child, play with fire and you’re bound to get burned,” he muttered to Malekith. That goes for both of them.

Loptr coaxed the Aether out of Malekith’s body using his own seidr as bait. Gathering its energies, he forces the Aether into Bor and quickly utters a spell to both hide its presence and seal it in. Bor would have no recollection of regaining the Aether, hopefully meaning he won’t be trying to use the stone, but there’s no guarantee the stone won’t act up on its own. Loptr was still curious how long it would take to fully corrupt Bor. 

In the meantime, we’ll have to work on Odin’s people skills, he thought to himself. When the time comes that either Bor is incapacitated or finds out about the Aether, threatening to unleash its power, Odin will swoop in, convince Asgard the old king has gone mad and take the throne for himself. Other than Odin, no one else looks like they have returned to Asgard yet. Likely no one knows that Odin has been stripped of his title. Excellent.

Loptr releases the last bit of the Aether to merge with what was within Bor and with it, releases the alternate reality traps the nearby soldiers were under.

Loptr’s eyes flitted around scanning the field until his eyes landed on the large frame of Malekith’s most trusted commander and best friend.

“Algrim,” Loptr slaps him across the face hard. He pulls him up roughly by the front of his armor to jerk him to alertness. “Take Malekith and evacuate the planet. I have already sent many of the survivors to a different realm. I will contact you when it’s safe to return.” He put the dagger in Algrim’s hands. “Your ship is coming. Leave now.” Loptr pushed them.

Algrim reluctantly nodded and silently followed the instructions.

Loptr moved to a safer location as Bor stirred. Algrim and Malekith had almost reached the ship when Bor fully awoke, subconsciously willing the Aether to destroy everything in sight. Malekith made a weak attempt to call at the Aether to return, but was forced into the ship.

Bor’s suppressant was wearing off and his body was still locked in the heat of battle. Loptr observed, waited off to the side until the berserker had taken full control of Bor and the Einherjar were out of earshot before he brought attention to himself.

“Bor!” Loptr boomed. His bright orange hair was swept up by the winds caused by the Aether, making it look even more like a flaming inferno licking at its victim. “You and I have one infinity stone each and the blood of the berserker within us. Let’s see who survives this.” Loptr stuck his hand in the blood of a gutted soldier nearby and smeared it across his face and in his mouth. His eye didn’t pulsate as it normally did, but his skin split, forming glowing cracks throughout his body and his head felt like it was about to explode.

Keeping Bor occupied should buy enough time for any surviving Einherjar and Svartálfar to evacuate the area. Hopefully Odin will forgive him for doing this whatever the outcome. After all, there are no rights and wrongs when it’s a fight between beasts, he reasoned.

His consciousness faded and the beast took over.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bor and Loptr both come out of their battle alive, but one in better condition than the other. Odin asks for help.

Somehow both Bor and Loptr survived the battle. Loptr awoke feeling tired and sore, but no permanent injuries or lost limbs (not that it mattered to him) - he would count that as a win.

He conjured a mirror and checked his eye once more. Had it been a hallucination or was there an actual infinity stone embedded in his eye? Maybe if he just…

Loptr began digging his fingers into his eye ignoring the pain, but stopped with a jolt before he did any real damage, when he heard a short knock and the Odin’s loud voice behind him.

“I thought knocks are supposed to be answered before the knocker breaks in.”

Odin ignored him and instead changed the attention to Loptr’s bloodied fingertips. “What were you doing,” he asked accusingly as he grabbed Loptr’s hand.

“Nothing,” Loptr jested with a sing-song attitude, wiping his bloodied fingers on his trousers, “I think my eye grew back crooked so I was setting it straight.”

They both knew that was a goat-shit excuse, but knew better that it would be a dead end pursuit.

“I’m glad you’re awake actually. How are you feeling?”

Loptr knew Odin cared, but with such impeccable timing, he was sure there was something else Odin wanted to ask.

Let’s play around, Loptr thought. “You mean how do I feel after your father beat the shit out of me? Peachy. Just peachy!”

Odin gave him a look.

Loptr purposely draped himself onto Odin. Half of it was because he wanted to be silly and lighten up the mood. The other half - he felt tired as Hel. “I feel like a planet rolled over me,” he admitted, “I know we were both berserker as the time, but I was dumb enough to seal the Aether in him before he went crazy. Honestly wasn't planning on surviving, let alone in one piece.”

Odin stayed silent for a moment, Loptr had been in one piece, but just barely. Odin had thrown Loptr in the fire for a couple weeks before he dragged his unconscious, but at least whole, body back to Asgard...he trailed. “Did you say you sealed the Aether in him?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t know,” Loptr said snickering, holding up his own weight and standing up straight again, “Don’t tell him. He’ll try to start another war.”

“That explains his erratic behavior once he got back,” Odin said, absentmindedly drifting into thought.

That got Loptr curious. Had the Aether already begun it’s corruption? “What kind of erratic behavior?”

Ever since Bor returned from Svartalfheim, he had manically been preparing Asgard for the end of days, for Ragnarök. During the first few days, he made orders to start stockpiling dry foods and to build more airships modeled after the Skíðblaðnir. What initially seemed to be concern over his people soon turned to hoarder-like mentality, which soon evolved into sporadically yelling (occasionally violently) at his people to awaken from their delusions and to leave Asgard. 

“The council has voted to temporarily make decisions on his behalf and he has been confined to the inner palace due to ‘sickness’,” Odin said a little more calmly than he normally would. “He’s been preaching about Ragnarök like a heretic and trying to scare people.” The next bit, he was reluctant to say, but was only fair to inform Loptr. “He’s also been rally up people for a public execution… Your public execution.”

Loptr wasn’t surprised. “Go on.”

“I’ve spoken up against it and so have the council. Many of the soldiers are opposed to it too, but were reluctant to speak up.”

“On what charges?”

“Ha! This was what got the council convinced of his inhiberance,” Odin laughed.

Loptr thought it was odd because Odin normally would be the serious one in a situation like this. He wondered if the Aether was affecting him too.

“‘Future high treason,’ he called it,” Odin chuckled, “For crimes you have not yet committed, but bound to do so. He refused to get into specifics.”

“He was convinced that he needed every able body man and woman to fight against you so called for a draft,” Odin laughed. “The council and I are still dealing with the fallout of that outburst.” 

Loptr could almost hear the defeat in Odin’s voice. He knew Odin was trying to mask his weariness with laughter. Odin was trying to hold onto himself when the council was obviously trying to manipulate the young prince and turn him into a puppet king. Nothing a couple of smooth words and some harmless blackmailing can’t fix, Loptr thought to himself. Odin would be furious if he knew, but Loptr would just fix these things without Odin’s notice, it’s easier that way. In the few months he lived in the palace, Loptr noticed Odin took after his father in more ways than one. The most obvious, being the inability to question his assets or how they were gained.

“I’m flattered your father thinks it necessary to need the whole of Asgard to defeat little old me,” Loptr smiled sarcastically. Good, he thought, this also means that the old son of a cowlick hasn’t figured out he has an infinity stone in him. He just hoped his spell was strong enough to keep it that way.

“Ha! The old fool believes you, alone, are the calamity that will bring Ragnarök,” Odin dismissed, “I’m sure whatever the Norns have prepared, would be bigger than what one person can pull off.” Odin started throwing textbook knowledge around, “According to our histories, Ragnarök cannot be diverted. If curbing the end of times was as putting a single man to death, I’m sure our predecessors would have figured that out already. It can’t be that easy.”

“I can see why he would want me dead,” Loptr mused, “trading one for all the lives of the four realms is a good trade!”

“Don’t worry, Brother. I don’t intend on dying that easily.”

“You wouldn’t be able to die if you were cut in half, you stubborn bastard!” Odin laughed, masking the fact that it was almost truth, “All jesting aside, I’m glad to have you back at my side.” 

Reading the body language, Loptr was amused to see the old familiar fidgety Odin take over again.

“You have something to inquire. Go on, ask it,” Loptr encouraged.

The bravado from the moment he walked into the room as Crowned Prince Odin crumbled and was just Odin again, just as he always had been with Loptr. “I was wondering if you knew of a way to fix King Bor.”

Loptr went still. After a quiet moment, he began, cognizant that he needed to tread carefully. “I don’t see how ‘fixing’ him would benefit anybody,” he said, slowly, clearly. The bitterness that he had suppressed for centuries had been released and he was unafraid to voice it freely.

Loptr watched as Odin’s mind digested his bold statement.

Odin swallowed his next sentence and chose to focus on something else instead. “I see,” he said just as slowly. “Loptr, I’m glad to have you back. I’ll need to work with the council in some other matters then.” He gave Loptr a pat on the shoulder and left.

Loptr stood frozen for a moment. He understood why Odin would want to restore his father, being a filial son, but in the short while he had observed their father/son interaction, he couldn’t see a relationship past abuse at worse or conditional love at best. He couldn’t help but think of how lucky he was to be granted the time he had with Nal.

Unsure of what to do, Loptr found himself in front of Bestla’s door.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making up for the lack of posts these few weeks. Deadlines have not been joking lately!

“Come in my child.”

Loptr walked in and closed the door behind him. He stood sheepishly for a long moment before running towards Bestla, overwhelming her in a desperate embrace. He really needed it and was relieved when she wrapped her long arms around him as well.

“Lokk, what’s wrong child?” Bestla said softly.

Loptr let the hug linger, holding on for just a moment longer, “I’ve done it. Soon you will be free.” Loptr stares at the chains angrily and focuses his seidr, his hands glowing a signature red. He breaks and unlinks the chains restraining Bestla to the rooms, careful not to disturb the rings that were grown into her legs.

Bestla sank to her knees in horror, desperately trying to delink the chains in fear of Bor’s wrath. A promise that he will destroy Jötunheim and the rest of the Jotuns should she ever escape.

Loptr held her shoulders reassuringly, “The council has ruled Bor unfit to make decisions as king and he has been relieved of his duties. Odin and the council are ruling over his behalf.” Loptr said proudly of his brother.

The new development did nothing to ease Bestla’s fear. “No no no. Jotunheim. He will destroy Jotunheim next. He is a cancer. He...” Her eyes flitted around in paranoia as Loptr grew in size to properly wrap his arms around her.

“...will do you no more harm,” Loptr finished for her. “The court sorcerers have him comfortably confined in the inner palaces. I have also personally made my round of inspections to ensure he is secure. Berserker or not, he will not get out.” Loptr said softly into her ear. 

Bestla let herself go limp, sinking slowly to the ground before shakily pulling herself onto her chaise with Loptr’s help. 

She wouldn’t let herself believe this nightmare was over. Could it be over? But where would she go? The old Jotun villages in the Realm had all been destroyed when the Asgardians army marched. Jotunheim was much too cold for her, one who was born and raised in the ever-warm lands of the Realm Eternal. She steeled her will. “Thank you child, for removing the chains and granting me my freedom. I’m afraid I will remain here in the palace. It’s easier to get news here than if I had run off to the countryside. And there’s also…” she drifted off as if she was too afraid to continue her sentence.

Loptr’s bright green eyes widened in hopefulness. He took her hands, “Odin? Do you worry about Odin? I’ll fetch him! All these years, he always thought you hated him.”

“No!” She said, then softer, “No. I’m… unfit to be his mother.” She yearned to hold her son even if he was a product of her corruption, but she was still hesitant. She knew it was selfish, but she feared his rejection despite the fact that it was she, herself that had neglected him all these centuries. 

“Queen Bestla, I think it would be good for Odin if you were at his side guiding him,” Loptr started.

“That’s enough. I no longer wish to talk about this matter. If there’s nothing else, you may leave.”

Sensing Bestla’s resistance, Loptr eased up. “Very well,” he nodded. 

“Now that you mention it, there is something I would like to ask about,” he said. “What do you know about infinity stones.”

* * *

Odin sat attentively listening and giving input whenever he could about his father’s situation and how to proceed with the transfer of powers. Without Bor behind him, Odin constantly felt the councilmen’s efforts to push him into the background to flex their own power. 

What would Bor do to take back command of the meeting? Usually, say something outrageous that the councilmen couldn’t help but be steered in his direction, Odin thought. Maybe should volunteer information about the Aether being the source of Bor’s mental deterioration, that would grab their attention. Alas, but Loptr was right, maybe it would be best to keep this information secret should anyone be so inclined to take the reality stone for himself.

“Councilmen, I declare a new opening in the council. This opening will be filled by Loptr, effective immediately,” Odin declares assertively and dismisses the council.

Murmurs were heard around the table, but rather than allowing them to question him, Odin leaves.

Odin keeps walking until he reaches the royal gardens and sighs as he slumps under a tree.

“Sigh indeed, Brother,” Loptr says, lazily swinging a leg that was dangling off a branch. He rolls off and lands next to Odin like a cat. “Let’s go hunting. Tell me about your shit day and I’ll tell you about mine.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” Odin reluctantly said. Every fiber of his body was telling him to go, that the council could handle governing Asgard for a couple more days, but now he could no longer sneak off as he did before. It is his duty to his people. The power void left by Bor’s forced absence has rendered the governing body unstable. One wrong move and Odin knew he would be just as easily removed as Bor was. 

Loptr blew a raspberry, “Booorriiinnngggg. That’s no fun.”

“Boring is right, but it won’t be in the future,” Odin said with a coy smile. “From now on, you’ll be by my side at these meetings as one of the councilmen and my personal advisor.”

“Whaaatt!” Loptr exclaimed, “but I was aspiring to be a freeloader,” he whined.

Loptr was hoping to have a good long talk with his brother like old times, but he got the hint and played it off like he didn’t care. If he was being honest with himself, he was disappointed, but no need to burden Odin with his personal issues. It wasn’t something Odin could help with anyways. It was something Loptr would just have to emotionally sort out himself and eventually come to terms with. Easier said than done.

The conversation he had with Bestla left him with more questions than answers. Even the answers he did receive were ones hard to swallow and required further digestion. 

“Loptr,” Odin repeated, “are you alright?”

“Yes, yes. A bit of um...indigestion,” Loptr made an excuse. “I’m going to go on a quick hunt myself and burn it off.” He speedwalked away from Odin.

“Next meeting is at dawn tomorrow morning. Don’t be late!” Odin yelled after him.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loptr meets a lady of the Ironwood.

Loptr wandered aimlessly through the branches of Yggdrasil. He always liked wandering, but never felt lost. Eventually he would end up in the place he wanted to be.

Today, he was completely lost. The conversation with Bestla had given him more insight about himself in a few hours than the months he had spent scouring Asgard’s libraries and abandoned research facilities, but left him with more questions than ever. 

Bestla speculated that Loptr was possibly a weapon Nal and Surtur had designed to house an infinity stone for defeating the Asgardians in the last war. 

When things started looking south for the Jotuns, there had been talk that Surtur went looking for an infinity stone hidden deep within the Realm Eternal. However, it seems, the war effort had fallen apart and the war had already been lost before the stone was ready to be dispatched.

The theory made logical sense, but Loptr kept reminding himself that it was just a theory, nothing more. He could not be sure unless he asked Nal herself. However, even if he were able to see Nal again, he wasn’t sure whether he would be brave enough to face the truth.

Bestla spoke fondly of her sister reminiscing how she had a natural ability to give life to those she loved. Perhaps that was how “Lokk” came into existence - an object loved so much, it spawned a soul to reciprocate the love. Whether Nal’s love for him was as a person or as a weapon, Loptr chose to not think about at the moment. If it bothered him too much, he’ll just seal it with his other disowned memories.

He pushed the thought aside. He really hoped he wouldn’t develop a habit out of sealing his memories. Things of such convenience always came with a steep price.

Loptr’s foot slipped and he fell. Rather, he swore Yggdrasil’s branch moved out of the way from under his foot, but he was so deep in thought that he couldn’t be absolutely certain.

He fell and fell and fell for what seemed to be days. By Ymir’s torn body, this is a long fall, Loptr thought. It’s not going to be a fun landing. 

Despite his efforts to use his magic to cushion the fall, he did not slow down. 

Luckily, he didn’t need it. Yggdrasil was kind enough to drop him off at an angle near parallel to the ground and through soft grasses. He gently slid to a halt after a few scant meters - not bad for falling across galaxies.

He relaxed and let himself lay in the newly destroyed luxurious turf taking in the wonderful smell of crushed grasses.

“Welcome back, Traveller of Worlds,” a husky, but strangely feminine voice called. 

Loptr sat up and looked in the direction of the voice. It belonged to a feral looking girl with sharp eyes and wild, raven black hair.

She looked up from milking the cow to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think I’ve…”

“Sure you have,” she said before he could finish. “This is Ironwood. And I am Angrboda.”

It sure didn’t look like Ironwood. Ironwood had made quite an impression on Loptr the last time he visited. He had only sealed away memories associated with his first visit to Svartalfheim and nothing else, his memory shouldn’t be failing him this badly.

He remembered the Ironwood as a bright sun swept cottage in the middle of a dark, dingy forest. What he saw now was an endless meadow filled with wildflowers and grasses and a single giant tree in the distance. No cottage, no scary forest, no darkness - in fact, not even a cloud in the sky. Just a beautifully bright, sunny day.

“Your memory hasn’t failed you. I did some remodeling,” Angrboda explained, answering the questions flitting across his face.

How does one remodel an entire realm? Loptr thought. She didn’t look like a Celestial. There were probably very advanced spells at work here, he decided. A faint unmistakable hum of magic permeated in the background, but even a sorcerer of Loptr’s practice and skills had trouble identifying the source and purpose.

“Come, we can talk back at the house,” she said guiding the cow.

“Ah, one more thing,” she said, waving her finger and eyeing him up and down.

Loptr got the hint. He picked himself up, patting off the grasses stuck to his hair and clothes and shifted to his female form. “Better?” Loptr asked.

In reality, his female form barely looked any different than his male form. The curves of her face and her skin were softer, but she was still tall and athletic. As much as he liked larger breasts on other women, Loptr never thought it necessary to have larger breasts, herself. They would be terribly heavy and cumbersome in battle. An androgynous form would be much more practical. 

Angrboda gave Loptr a closer look and a long sniff. “You pass,” she said. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less, but the elders are strict and would not want anything compromising the maidenhood of those in the Ironwood.”

She turned around again to face Loptr. “And this form, how long can you maintain it?”

“Indefinitely,” Loptr smiled confidently, “This is me. Another me, but still me.”

“Come along then.” She linked her arm to Loptr’s as the cow sauntered close behind. With a few strides, Loptr was surprised to find herself in front of the large tree that had been in the distance. 

The magic in this realm was so peculiar. As if it moulded itself to conform to its residents’ liking, unlike his own magic, where he shaped it to do his bidding.

“After you, m’lady,” Angrboda said, holding the door open for Loptr. Angrboda stepped inside after her and the lift shot upward. 

Loptr likened the lift in the tree to travelling via bifrost, except slower, a lot smaller and much more rockier. About three seconds later and several kilometers above ground, they got off to “Angrboda’s flat.”

Looking around, Loptr couldn’t help but wonder what the inside of the cottage was like during her first visit to Ironwood and how different it was with this treehouse metropolis. 

“This interior is exactly the same as it was when you saw it as a cottage, Lokk,” Angrboda informed. “I can change the outside appearance like I change clothes, but why change the inside when nothing’s wrong with it?”

“No, I can’t read your mind, but I’m a seer. I see everything. I know everything,” she said after briefly studying Loptr’s face. “You were going to ask, so I answered first.”

“Then tell me Lady Angrboda, why am I here?”

Angrboda smiles cheekily, “That’s for you to figure out.” She taps Loptr on the nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking about likening Angrboda’s remodeling to changing skins or changing wallpaper on your pc. The barebones and basics are still there, It’s fundamentally the same, but it looks completely different. I may or may not get into it, but if I do, it will be thing more technology into it rather than just blanketing it under magic as it is now.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin visits family.

Odin paced back and forth in front of Bor’s rooms deciding whether he should go in. 

The councilmen had become more and more brazen in pushing their agendas. They had been deciding on arranged marriages, peace treaties, urban development and more, making plans without Odin’s involvement. With Loptr missing, and Tyr gone, he could really use some advice, even if it was from his his half crazed father.

Gathering his confidence, he pushed through the double doors to enter.

Bor sat sedated, at the meeting table in the middle of the room, clothes disheveled, hair unkempt. There were plenty of times, Odin had seen Bor without his armor growing up, but never had he ever looked so small and shriveled.

Bor looked up starved for visitors. “Odin, my boy.”

He voice was hoarse as if he hadn’t talked for days, yet more gentle than Odin had ever heard it. Odin even wondered if this shell of a man is even his father at all.

Bor pulled himself up holding onto the back of a chair and waved Odin closer. “Come. Sit,” he said gesturing at the empty seat.

Odin approached slowly, carefully, not to provoke Bor.

Bor chuckled, “You think I am mad as well.”

Odin neither confirmed nor denied the statement and kept his face neutral.

Bor patted Odin on the back. Something he had never done. “Son, I am dying.”

A wave of emotions hit Odin. Although Bor had not been the best of fathers, he was still his father. Hearing those words coming out of the invincible King Bor’s mouth sent an ominous feeling of dread through Odin’s very being.

Bor was choosing his words carefully. “There’s nothing I can say to make you believe me when I say Loptr is going to be the downfall of Asgard. My last wish is for you to go see for yourself, eyes unclouded by the affection you have for him.”

Odin nodded. 

“What should I do, Father?” He asked, voice tentative.

“Mimir. Bestla will know where he is. Find him and you will understand. He will…” 

“Will...will...will,” Bor suddenly gripped Odin’s hand with bone crushing force, “will... Loptr and the Mad Titan, they will destroy the nine realms and all the universe.” Bor pulled Odin close to his face, “You mustn’t let them get all the stones!”

Odin pulled away from Bor’s vice grip and took a few steps back, digging in his pockets to find the sedative the healers had given him should Bor become violent. 

Bor’s eyes went wild like a cornered animal. “Asgard… Asgard… Asgard will burn! Burn!” The nearby furniture spontaneously caught fire as Bor started shrieking.

Odin used the distraction to administer the sedative. Bor sunk down in a stupor and Odin carried him to the bed before turning his attention to the flames. Likely the side effects of the Aether, he thought as he patted out the fire. Had he gotten larger or had Bor gotten smaller? Odin sighed. He had initially come for advice and instead another burden was placed on him. He really wished Loptr would come back soon to either help return Bor to normal or take the Aether out.

* * *

It wasn’t unusual for Loptr and Odin to not see each other for years, decades even, but never had Odin needed Loptr’s presence as much as he needed it now. It had only been three days, but it felt like a millennia.

The council meeting was suffocating as usual. The council agreed to let Loptr join their ranks on one condition. For Odin to wed the princess of a nearby planet where Asgard was developing trade routes. Reluctant to give up his stance and yet not ready to marry, Odin agreed on a meeting with her first.

Odin sat alone in the courtyard, back against the tree Loptr so often napped in. He closed his eyes and hoped he would hear Loptr rustling above. Perhaps he should have gone hunting with him, Odin thought. 

Maybe not such a bad idea. Odin readied himself to talk to Bestla.

He hadn’t seen his mother in centuries. Sometimes he wondered if she even knew he still existed. Bitter thoughts crossed his mind. She probably wanted nothing to do with him. Best to just ask her about Mimir and leave her be.

Odin made his way to the eastern tower where Bestla resided. This area of the palace was much more deserted than he remembered, but he paid it little attention.

He knocked lightly at the door.

“Lokk, dear is that you?” came a voice, casual and airy.

Odin cleared his throat, “Ahem. It’s me, Odin.”

There was a pause before she spoke again, voice strained with formality, “Your highness, please enter.”

“Please, Mother, we are alone. Just call me Odin.”

Bestla’s eyes glistened oddly, “Um, yes, of course. Odin. What brings you here, my child,” she stuttered over her words.

Mother, are you well? Odin wanted to ask. “I have come to inquire the whereabouts of Mimir,” he said instead. 

Bestla’s eyes widened with surprise at the name, “Why do you want to look for my brother?”

Mimir is his uncle? Odin thought. He barely knew about Bestla’s side of the family - well, he barely knew anything about Bestla.

“Bor asked me to find him and that he will have answers to my questions,” Odin said, throwing Bor’s weight around hoping to get answers faster.

Bestla trembled at the name, but steeled her will and gathered her courage. “I forbid it.” That was all she managed. 

Mimir was well known as a wise seer who had the answers to any question as long as one paid the right price. However, he was also greedy, petty and vengeful. If Mimir were to find out Bor’s son were the one seeking answers, it’s more than likely he would take more than simply monetary payment.

That wasn’t the answer Odin was expecting. “I… sorry for disturbing you,” Odin said reluctantly. “I shall take my leave.”

Bestla desperately wanted to talk more with Odin, but was frozen with fear. A bitter voice in her head taunted, an ice jotun, frozen, how ironic.

“Wait,” she managed to get out. Anything to be helpful to Odin. Anything to get him to stay a little longer, talk a little longer.

Odin turned around. 

“He resides in the warmest region of Jotunheim, where liquid water is abundant,” she blurts out. 

Odin nodded.

“Odin, if you find him, you mustn’t give him your name,” she warned in a smaller voice full of worry. “He…” her voice drifted off to an inaudible whisper. He’ll kill you, she said to herself.

“Thank you, Mother,” Odin said, backing out of her door. “Again I apologize for disturbing your rest.” With barely more than another second of eye contact, he left.

Bestla sat, unmoving, her emotions were at war, as a part of her wanted nothing but to make up for neglecting her only son while the other part desperately tried to protect what was left of her. It was too late. She had missed the opportunity.

On the other side of the door, Odin squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Bestla was just as he remembered her, guarded and cold as usual.

He meandered back into the main palace and to his own rooms to pack.

As if on cue, a light knock came at the door, “Your highness, Councilmen Ran wants to speak with you,” a meek voice called in.

Odin opened the door, “Tell her I’ll be gone for a few days, there’s something I have to take care of before I am to meet the Vanir princess.”

“But…”

“Just tell her I will be back in a week. I’m going on a hunt,” and with that Odin left.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angrboda leads Loptr (Lokk) in meditation to find answers.

If you want to find answers, you will have to focus, Lokk,” Angrboda said. “Everything you need is here,” she taps her on the right eyelid.

“But what does that mean? Why is it here? Why do I have it?” Loptr touched her eye lightly. She was frustrated that Angrboda, being a seer who already knew the answers, was purposely being cryptic for the sole reason of making Loptr find out the answers for herself. “Isn’t that why I ended up here? You’re the one that tells me what I should do.”

Angrboda just laughed clawing a hand over Loptr’s face, “Patience. Concentrate.” 

Loptr closed her eyes in meditation again. “I still don’t see how this is helping,” she said, unable to help herself from getting the last word in.

Loptr cleared her mind and focused on the sound of Angrboda's humming. She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for and only sensed a suffocating darkness threatening to envelope her.

She let it happen.

For minutes there was nothing. Then a flicker of green seidr. Something completely different than her own, but at the same time familiar. She called to it just to see what it would do and was surprised it answered her beckon. The green glowed in the darkness, illuminating her hands and casting shadows all around her. Being still too dark to make out any details, Loptr conjured her own seidr for more ample lighting, only to find it unreachable. 

It was definitely still there and she does not feel the stifling buildup caused by magic dampeners or inhibitors, but somehow it was inaccessible. Loptr frowned, uneasy about being so seamlessly stripped of power without her notice. The green seidr danced around her hands. Maybe she could use this foreign seidr, mold it to her will.

She concentrated and willed as if it were her own seidr to turn into a witch light, but unfortunately it was not hers to command. The green seidr roared to life illuminating the room in a burst before flickering for a moment and fading into darkness.

Well that was interesting, Loptr thought.

Firstly, she was in a cave, much like the ones she had led the refugee Elves through during Bor’s rampage across Svartalfheim. 

Secondly, she thought she saw a shadow of a figure slumped against the wall on the far end of the cave.

With the green extinguished and no access to her own seidr, Loptr was completely blind in the darkness.

Crouching slightly, she started feeling around to find her bearings. Her hand landed on a rock covered in warm, viscous liquid - blood perhaps? 

“Hello,” she called out, “is anyone there?”

She sped up her movements and made her way to the place where she thought she saw the figure. The temperature drastically dropped the closer she made her way to the destination. Jotun then, she thought.

She felt around for the figure, nearly falling flat on her face as she tripped over long leather covered legs. Loptr protectively caught the figure before his head hit the ground. The clothing on the figure felt fine and the armor well made - maybe not Jotun, then, she bought. Jotuns had good armor, but they are such hot-blooded creatures, it’s rare that they would be so covered in clothes - even if they were rich.

Feeling around for a pulse, Loptr concluded, definitely a man as her finger brushed against his neck triangle. The pulse was weak and he was barely breathing, but Loptr was relieved to find that he was alive, although, perhaps not for long, by the way things are progressing.

Loptr accessed the man for injuries stopping when her hand felt a rather large gaping wound at his chest. A weak cough escaped his lip accompanied by hot viscous liquid dripping on her hand supporting his neck. Not good. The blood was much too warm, even for a Jotun.

Loptr cursed, if only there was something flammable in the cave, at least she could light a fire. Without access to her seidr she hoped that all the spells keeping her clothes from normally catching fire due to her Muspel nature were nullified. 

Ripping a large piece from her dress, she pressed the cloth onto his wound to find it soaked within seconds. With the lack of supplies on hand, the quickest way she could think of to cauterize the wound was to scorch him with Muspel blood - guaranteed to be extra painful for a Jotun.

She ripped another piece from her dress and she cut her hand to let the blood drip on the cloth, blowing a little to nudge a flame to life. Setting it aside to let it grow, she turned her attention back to the wounded man.

Leaning close to his ear, Loptr slowly explained her intentions, careful not to startle the poor man, “I’m going to cauterize your wound with my blood. Due to our competing natures, it is going to be very painful. I’m sorry I don’t have anything to lessen the pain, but just hold on.”

Loptr agitated the cut on her hand to coax encourage more bleeding. As her blood dripped over his wound, the flesh sizzled. The man’s back arched, but no screams escaped his lips. He’s a lot more durable than I thought, Loptr said to herself. Maybe he will make it. She just hoped the tainted berserker blood from Bor’s bloodline didn’t affect him as much as it did her.

The smell of burning flesh was terrible. Loptr gently stroked the man’s forehead with her free hand hoping to sooth the pain to find it burning hot, slick with a sheen of cold sweat.

An involuntary hand grabbed her wrist and pulled it toward his chest wound. Loptr doubted the man was aware what he was doing, but the moment they made contact, a searing pain bloomed in her chest, as if she synced with him and felt everything he did. 

Norns, he was run all the way through. The pain had radiated through her back. Loptr kept her hand on the man’s chest since the bleeding seemed to stem faster - which also meant she felt every second of his agony as well. 

Relief hit her as the man’s grip slacked and she took her hand back, rubbing her wrist. He probably lost consciousness again. She wasn’t looking forward to doing this again for his back.

Panting slightly, she gave herself a minute to rest and tend to the flame before returning her attention to the man. The fire she had started was still ridiculously weak - alas, which meant the spells held. Loptr blew on it from afar in attempts to give it some more life. She squinted trying to make out the man’s features, but it was still far too dark.

She leaned in and softly explained her intentions again, “Are you still with me?” She shook him slightly, but he remained still. “I’m going to roll you over and work on your back. It will be over soon.”

Loptr positioned herself to roll him in one fluid motion. As she heaved, the man let out a soft pained groan. At the same moment, she felt it again. The excruciating pain from his chest wound, this time complemented with a burning sensation running through her veins. 

Being a Muspel, Loptr had never been physically burned before. Being a Muspel on Asgard, she had never encountered anything hot enough to burn her kind. Whatever the viscous liquid was leaking from the man’s wounds, it wasn’t blood and it was something hot enough to burn a Muspel.

The weak excuse for a fire gave out and died. Or maybe she had passed out. Either way there was only black.

“Lokk... Lokk…” a muffled voice repeated. It was a familiar and lovely voice, but she was exhausted. Maybe if she could just…

“Lokk!” the voice said again, this time ringing louder. A soft pat came at her cheek.

Loptr woke up from her meditative state.

“Good morning!” Angrboda said happily, “did you fall asleep or did you see something? You fell over in the middle of the session.”

“I…” Loptr was brushing a stray hair out of the way when she noticed her hand covered in a viscous black goop. She had seen this before, but where? A phantom pain lingered in her chest and instinctively rubbed it with her other hand.

Angrboda noticed where Loptr diverted her attention. “Ah, you saw something. Good!” She said patting Loptr on the shoulder.

“That means I can get rid of you,” Angrboda translated. “Now come back another day. I’ve done all I can for this session.”

Loptr sat up still a little drowsy.

Angrboda continued talking, ignoring any signs of whether Loptr was paying attention or not. “As payment you will have to fix my lawn that you destroyed when you landed. I expect to be paid in full by our next meeting.”

“Next meeting,” Loptr repeated, still a bit slow.

“Anyhow, you have outstayed your welcome here, I wish you good luck,” Angrboda rambled on in a rush. She opened a portal and shoved Loptr through.

Loptr tumbled onto the training grounds that she and Odin frequented. Asgard. At least the pain from the man’s chest wound was gone. As was the burning in her veins. She groaned, remembering what Odin had said about the meeting. Damn it all. How long was she gone? Loptr shifted back to his male form and headed to the main hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special cameo from TDW.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odin visits Mimir to ask for a sip from the well only to find himself in a little bit of a bind. 
> 
> Upon Odin’s return to Asgard, he is short one eye and sporting bruises around his neck. Loptr panics and does something reckless.

The air was crisp, but not nearly as biting as Asgard’s winters. Odin never expected there would be a place in Jotunheim as warm as Asgard. 

Unsure of Mimir’s exact location, Odin suddenly remembered Lokk’s terrible advice to trust his gut feeling and follow through. Although Lokk’s gut seemed to get them in trouble more times than not. Odin smiled to himself and randomly chose a path. He would ask for directions if he found anyone. Yggdrasil please help me on this one, he thought to himself. He licked his finger and held it up to feel which way would be the warmest. If Mother chose to live in Asgard, perhaps her brother would prefer milder temperatures too.

Surprisingly, somehow he followed the right path. At the bottom of a valley, under a copse of trees was a small hut and an old well.

“And who might you be? I don’t get many visitors anymore,” a blue old man said. “Come in, sit down. It has got to be freezing outside.”

He was tall for Asgadian standards, but not for a frost giant at all. 

In truth, Odin wasn’t cold at all. He thought about the irony of how an ice Jotun claimed the warmest parts of Jotunheim to be cold when an Asgardian thought the same temperature tolerable. Don’t frost giants strive in the cold, he thought, that’s why they are “frost” giants after all. 

“I am Lokk,” Odin lied with confidence.

Mimir waited for Odin to continue.

“Uhh... of Asgard,” Odin added, reading the signs. “I have come to gain knowledge in regards to Ragnarök and the wisdom it takes to reign it. Name your price Elder Mimir.”

Mimir let out a cackle, “Oh you are so funny, child. Ragnarök can’t be reigned.” He filled up his waterskin from the well and took a long sip. “Come and talk with me. We can talk about payment and the future later.” He handed Odin another water skin.

Odin was actually a lot thirstier than he thought and took a long drink from the skin.

Suddenly a rope tightened around his neck and he was dragged upward, legs flailing.

Mimir tied the rope so Odin hung in a nearby tree by his neck.

“Lokk from Asgard, huh? I’ve heard that name from somewhere. And it’s going to eat at my mind if I don’t find out where I heard it from,” Mimir sneered, the hospitality from minutes ago, gone. “Why don’t you... hang around here as I look through my rune sticks. Should you survive when I get back, I’ll consider letting you have a drink in my well.” 

For nine day and nine nights, Odin endured. He bowed and flexed his muscles, kicked his legs and struggled against Mimir’s bindings to get free. Each day, Mimir would return to check on the bindings and announce that Lokk’s identity still had him stumped. 

On the morning of the tenth day, an excited Mimir let Odin down with a thud.

Mimir cut Odin loose and Odin promptly keeled over and threw up. Odin gulped hungrily for air as Mimir propped him up on a chair. 

“Nephew!” Mimir cries happily, “You should have told me you were my nephew and we could have spared all that…” he waved a finger at his set up for hanging Odin on a tree.

Odin’s eyes widened in fear as he continually gasped for air. Bestla had specifically told him not to reveal his identity to Mimir, how did he know?

“Oh, Nal would be so happy to hear you are still alive,” Mimir said, patting Odin roughly on the shoulder.

“Wha…” Odin choked out. He caught himself and masked his blunder with more coughing. Mimir must have gotten him confused with another nephew. Through his pain and lack of oxygen going to his brain, Odin mused at the possibility that Mimir would have a nephew named Lokk. It can’t be a coincidence. But then again, Loptr is Muspel, he can’t be Mimir’s nephew. Or perhaps Mimir was toying with him.

“Uncle, the prophecy?” Odin coughed.

“Ah yes, anything for my nephew,” Mimir tightly smiled. 

Odin felt a tingling behind his neck. The last thing he noticed was Mimir's lips moving fast to recite a spell. Odin’s eyes rolled back into his head and the world went dark.

“Rumor had it, dear nephew, was that you had a very special something hidden in your eye,” Mimir said, tracing circles around Odin’s unconscious face. “Now let’s get you prepped. I would hate for my dear sister to go through the pain of losing you again.”

* * *

Odin awoke to a numb digging and prodding near the right side of his head. His hand sluggishly smacked against Mimir’s.

“Nah ah ah, keep still,” a voice warned. “I didn’t realize you would come to so quickly, or else I would have used a different spell.” 

That’s right, Mimir. Odin forced himself to sober up. And jumped to his feet, albeit a bit wobbly. The right side of his body was numb and the left side, at best, hazy. 

Mimir started detaching himself from equipment that allowed him to take a closer look at the inner workings of Odin’s eye. Through his spell addled brain, Odin flopped his useless arms around and used his body weight to push Mimir down, further tangling him in the equipment. In a moment of clarity, Odin grabbed Mimir’s personal water skin before he bolted, or rather stumbled, outside.

Odin called out for the bifrost, relieved as he collapsed in the safety of the observatory.

He let himself time to lie still for a moment as the guards rushed to the prince’s aid only to be brushed aside.

Slowly regaining more autonomy of his limbs, Odin marched straight to Bor’s living quarters. He was a fool to listen to the ramblings of a mad king. The fading numbness on the right side of his face was replaced by a radiating pain. Odin’s single-minded determination in getting to Bor was the only thing steering him through the pain, such that he didn't even notice a concerned Loptr following him until Loptr grabbed Odin’s arm.

“Odin, you need to stop. You’re losing too much blood.”

Without a word, Odin kept stubbornly walking and threw Bor’s double doors open without knocking. 

Bor laughed at the first sight of his son, ragged, beaten and with his eye cut open.

Odin quickly closed the distance and grabbed Bor by the collar. “You did this,” Odin seethed. “You wanted for Mimir to kill me.”

Bor kept manically laughing.

“Boy, you are not ready to be king.” Bor said, summoning Gungnir for the attack. 

Odin barely dodges a stab as Loptr intercepts with his magic seemingly freezing Bor in place.

Bor’s irises bleed an angry red as the Aether takes hold of his body and lashes out, excited at the prospects of action. It’s energy pulses with the beat of a drum as it burns through the intricate workings of Loptr’s spell. 

Loptr pulls back when the cracks begin to form and thin tendrils of the Aether reach towards him, hungry for more delicious seidr it only had a taste of. 

From the corner, Loptr notices Odin leaning heavily on a chest, unsteady and waving like a flag in the midst of a storm. It was going to be hard to close their distance while avoiding the advances of the Aether, but he would have to try if he wanted his brother to live.

Loptr cautiously moved towards Odin whilst watching for an opening - one that came when Odin crumbled to the floor as his legs gave out.

In a split second, Loptr had teleported to Odin’s side and then again back to the main palace with an unconscious Odin in tow.

He repositioned himself to get a better hold on Odin when he felt a tug at his arm. Loptr cursed to himself. He was fast enough to safely grab Odin, but so was the Aether. One of its tendrils had embedded itself in Loptr’s arm. It was only a matter of time before it caught up to the brothers. 

Frantic and running out of options, Loptr held his fingers over Odin’s broken eye and transferred the slumbering Time stone to him. As long as the stones are kept apart, they still have a chance at containing the situation. He dropped Odin off at the healing halls and teleported far from the palace. If he was lucky, he Aether would complete its transfer to him before Bor’s main body found him. With his luck recently, he expected the worst.


	27. Chapter 27

The worst never came.

Loptr waited out the latter half of the day among the uninhabited areas of Yggdrasil’s branches for the red chaos to find him. He had expected to be hunted down and consumed by the Reality stone. Just like Malekith. Just like Bor. Instead, the Aether made its gradual transfer to its new Loptr shaped vessel and was promptly forced into stasis by whatever magics used to create Loptr’s body. Loptr was both surprised and eternally grateful to his creator. 

During their previous conversation, Bestla had mentioned that the last party rumored to wield the Time stone was a primordial being by the name of Oshtur, but she has been on a long hiatus from godhood in favor of raising children. Maybe she had more solid answers as to why he was created as a vessel and whether he had any other substantial purposes other than as a container. The problem would be where to find her.

Loptr chuckled to himself. The violent thrumming of an infinity stone trying to break free was reduced to a mere background tingle. A slight hum of power running through his bloodstream. The void left by the loss of the Time stone as Loptr transferred his eye to Odin was seamlessly substituted by the power of the Aether. 

Manufactured as the perfect vessel for an infinity stone indeed, Loptr mused, channeling seidr into his hand to observe with an inquisitive eye.

Having unknowingly spent so much of his life with the Time stone, Loptr couldn’t differentiate what abilities were his own and what abilities the infinity stone granted. Now that it was gone and replaced by the Aether, he was happy to identify little difference at all. If anything, his illusions had become even more tangent and convincing.

After a swift self assessment, Loptr deemed himself likely not to be a danger and headed back to Asgard.

* * *

According to the servants’ ever chatter in the halls, Bor was more or less successfully contained by the Einherjar before he left the palace grounds and had currently been put in an healing slumber induced by the court sorcerers. 

Odin was apparently forced to stay in the healing halls for the night and was yet to be discharged.

Loptr whistled from the door. “Odin, dear Brother, how are you doing? I’m loving the new eye color, it really brings out the pallor in your skin and the vibrancy of those bruises,” Loptr jokes. 

Odin noticed the dulled green in Loptr’s eyes and immediately understood what that meant. “Your eye, is it. Why did you…”

Loptr takes a look at his own eyes in the mirror near Odin’s bedside. Eh, lost some glint, but not too bad. He gives himself one last smile of mock vanity in the mirror and throws himself near the foot of Odin’s bed, “It suits you,” he says. “You passed out, I was frantic and I didn’t know what to do so I gave you my eye. Then I regrew another one,” Loptr said simply. “You should be able to see out of it.” Loptr waved a hand near Odin’s face only to be swatted off.

Odin’s expression darkened. He couldn’t blame Loptr for his stupidity as he was probably equally as frantic and illogical when he broke free of Bor’s guards in Svartalfheim with an unconscious Loptr and escaped to the safety of Malekith’s camp.

Loptr noticed Odin’s discomfort and quickly changed the subject. “Now are you going to tell me what happened to cause such an injury? The servants said you were on a hunting trip,” Loptr asked, probing for answers. “I’m hurt, by the way. You went without me even though I asked first.” And it was true. Something deeply bothered Loptr about Odin rejecting his offer to go hunting only to turn around and go himself.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Odin said calmly, “I made a stupid blunder and took a knife to the eye.”

“Hmmm. That was not the exciting story I was hoping for,” Loptr commented with a bored expression. He distinctly heard Odin say Bor somehow caused the injury during their little debacle the night before. Additionally, Odin had grown to be a fine hunter, he wouldn’t make a mistake dumb enough to end up in such a state. However, respecting his brother’s needs to keep his own secrets, Loptr didn’t press for answers.

“Afraid not,” Odin answered, “but here’s an exciting one, the council wants me to marry. I’m supposed to meet the princess today.”

“Is that exciting? You hardly seem excited,” Loptr continued to flatly comment. “And you look terrible. I doubt even a bar wench would be impressed with a prince with your looks.”

“No thanks to your disgusting eye in my skull,” Odin smirked, throwing Loptr off the bed with the wave of the blanket. Odin got up to grab the clothes his maid left for him. We’re all those gold layers really necessary?

“Ah, but with it, you should be able to use basic magic now,” Loptr informed, “Call it… hmm… muscle memory.” There was no doubt that Loptr fully trusted Odin to handle an infinity stone, but the question of whether Odin would accept such a responsibility placed on him without his consent was another issue.

Lopt pushed Odin towards the mirror. “Now just concentrate and imagine how you normally see yourself,” Loptr instructed. 

Odin closed his eyes and did as he was told. By the time he opened them, he looked exactly as he had before his visit to Mimir. The bruise around his neck was gone, both his eyes were blue again, he looked... well, healthy. He took a closer look at his neck and was satisfied to see how well the glamour was hiding the bruise. “I think I’ll keep the eye color, though,” Odin said, reverting his right eye back to Loptr’s former energetic green.

* * *

Auburn hair, soft, sea mist eyes, lithe build. Odin wondered if his infatuation with Loptr as a child foreshadowed this meeting.

One look at Frigg was all it took. Odin knew he wanted to spend the rest of his long life with Frigg the moment she walked in the hall with her father.

One look at Odin was all it took. Loptr knew Odin was about to start a new chapter in his life and it was time to let him live in stability rather than in adventure. 

Odin was King now and his life is dedicated to his people. Loptr could no longer be selfish and steal the prince away for fun times whenever he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re quickly approaching the last third of this story. More to come.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life moves on. Odin has ascended to the throne, but Loptr is not by his side.
> 
> The seeds of doubt Bor had planted was sprouting, but Odin refused to acknowledge it.

A larger part of the century had passed since the seamless transfer of power fostered by the councilmen in Odin’s aid. Odin’s marriage to Frigg seemed to please them so well, that meetings ran smoothly and they no longer undermined the opinion of the young-prince-turned-king.

With Loptr’s research helping trigger Bor’s berserker blood, Bor fought with Odin until his last breath and peacefully transitioned on into Valhalla. 

Jotunheim was rebuilding; Svartalfheim was a treasure trove of abandoned technology; Muspelheim was Muspelheim, hot, quiet and still burning since the eradication of the fire Jotun. The shadow moon, a nearby blue planet has become habitable, but was still largely unexplored. Asgard remained the pinnacle of Yggdrasil, her star, her flower and leader of the realms among her branches. 

Vanaheim, being the newest addition to the realms, had been flourishing with the opportunities granted by the trade routes Asgard offered. Trade of more advanced tools enchanted by the dwarves of Nidavellir and spells from Losálfar of Alfheim quickly propelled Vanaheim’s status to from the laid back countryside to Yggdrasil’s most medically advanced, cementing their position as Asgard’s more rural sister realm.

The realms were entering the start of a long stretch of peace.

* * *

Since Odin’s ascent to the throne, Loptr began making himself scarce, dropping in once every few years for a hunting trip with Odin or to cast a tie breaking vote for a political dispute. Odin couldn’t help but notice how Svartalfheim changed Loptr and how the incident with his eye somehow forced them apart even more despite their newly forged magical connection. It was almost as if Loptr was purposely avoiding Odin.

Odin felt a little abandoned since Loptr no longer needed him to help control the cursed blood. He somehow found a way. When Odin confronted him a few decades ago, Loptr simply said, “Meditating keeps it at bay,” and disappeared into the branches of Yggdrasil with a smile as he so often did now.

Another thing that worried him was the haunted look that had taken seemingly permanent residence in Loptr’s eyes in the recent years. Whenever Odin brought up the subject, Loptr would dismiss it and pivot to a different topic. 

Bound as blood brothers meant Loptr would be unable to lie to Odin, but Loptr always had a way with words that let him slip through the loopholes of the bond. Odin often wondered where he went during those long stretches of absence and whether Bor was right to question where Loptr’s loyalties lie.

In truth, Odin missed Loptr, but with the throne keeping him busy and Frigg expecting twin boys, Odin had little time for anything else.

“Odin, Dear,” Frigg called from bed-rest, “it’s late, and you’ve had a long day, why don’t you come to bed?”

At his Queen’s call, Odin pulled himself up from his cemented position in the study and sat at the edge of the bed.

He leans over and places a light kiss on her cheek. “I’m afraid sleep escapes me again. How are you feeling?”

Frigg traps Odin in an embrace. “I feel the strength of one, but I fear for the other one,” she says. “The healers say the best that could be done is bed-rest.”

Odin nuzzles her hair and brushes a stray strand back, “Both children will be fine,” he assures her and maintains eye contact.

Frigg meets Odin’s heterochromatic eyes and sighs, “Loptr, again?” He always had this oddly troubled and disappointed look when his mind was filled with thoughts of his brother.

“Ah, yes, I was wondering if he knew any spells that could possibly help,” Odin made an excuse - only a partial lie. He was caught off guard by Frigg’s perceptiveness.

“Dear, you forget your wife is an accomplished sorcerer herself,” she reminded him. “And we have a spell. I just have to make sure they are stable until the next full moon,” she said rubbing her swollen belly.

Odin nodded and brought her hands to his lips. He worried about Frigg having to perform the ritual herself while being so heavily pregnant, but also understood why it would be most important that she do it rather than anyone else. As the favored child of the natural order and the mother of the twins, it must be her to ask for the guaranteed safety of their weaker son in order to get the most effective results. The Norns would not take the request any other way. Another two weeks and all will be fine.

* * *

Frigg persevered through the pains of an unstable pregnancy and the scare of bloody show until the full moon.

Odin gathered his wife in his arms and teleported to the Nornheim region. The couple looked on into the shallow misty pool that made up the area.

“Are you sure you are ready for this, my love?” Odin asked full of concern. There were countless times he thought to have the healers terminate the pregnancy in fear of losing his wife. Odin would gladly trade the lives of the unborn children in exchange for Frigg’s health. They could always make more, but he knew Frigg would never forgive him. 

He gently set her down near the side of the pool and helped her disrobe. 

Frigg slowly lowered herself into the icy water, nearly slipping as another bout of pain hit. She regained her balance and waved Odin off just as he was about to jump in and steady her. The Norns would surely not like that.

Making her way to the center of the pool she submerged herself and prayed.

Seeing his wife safely situated, Odin stood watch just outside the pools. Far enough to give Frigg and the Norns privacy, but close enough to pull her out of danger, should she need help.

As the moon and blue planet reached their apex that night, a pair of cries rang through the air.

The whispered breeze of a Norn’s breath summoned Odin to fetch his wife.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Loptr saw how Odin set his eyes on Frigg, he knew it meant Odin was growing up without him. He leaves rather than be left behind.
> 
> Loptr goes on a journey of self discovery, but was unsuccessful for a number of years until he ignored the rules and tried something different.
> 
> Finally able to reenter his visions, Loptr discovers he may not like what he sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loptr is switching from male to female a lot in this chapter and pronouns follow suite. I hope it’s pretty clear, but there could be mistakes and fuzzy areas. Please let me know if there are.

For nearly a century, Loptr had been trying to return to the Ironwood and seek Angrboda’s guidance only to be thrown back into a different realm among Yggdrasil’s branches each time. After each rejection, Loptr would sit in whichever realm she landed in and focus her energies in meditation, much like how Angrboda taught her during their first official meeting. She hadn’t been able to reach the same subconscious state she did in Angrboda’s cottage or see the visions again, but through the meditation and the information in Malekith’s rune stick, she did learn to better understand and control the cursed berserker blood. In fact she had not had any outbursts in nearly 60 years. Still she needed to see Angrboda.

Loptr needed to try something different. He shifted and double checked her form. 

Instead of cordially asking for permission to enter as she normally does, she would try traveling through fire. Angrboda’s cottage made a strong enough impression that Loptr remembered exactly how the kitchen looked, but the ever changing landscape of the realm could be a rather troublesome obstacle. 

Not much to lose, she thought. The worst thing was probably to be thrown out again. 

Making herself comfortable in her old homes in the ruins, she started a fire and dove in. Loptr focused her energies into picturing Angrboda’s home and let it pull her through.

It worked. Loptr emerged from a flame in Angrboda’s kitchen and called out to her friend.

Unfortunately for her, the wards got to her before she heard a reply. Loptr was violently flung, needless to say with a lot more force than usual, through the branches of Yggdrasil and landed roughly on a rocky patch in a cave. Taking a peek into Yggdrasil again, Loptr confirmed she was on Svartalfheim again.

Loptr rubbed her bruising back and pushed herself up crossing her legs. Building a small fire for light and warmth, she started meditation.

It started as it always does, in pitch darkness, however this time was different. There were no healing or calming energies flowing through her, but something akin to the session she had with Angrboda. 

A flicker of familiar red seidr greeted her. Yes, her own. This time she could control it, but the control was slipping. Rather, her control was slipping. Loptr was vaguely aware of her body moving on its own, as if she was sitting inside her own head watching scenes play out in a theater.

It was the battle with Bor during the last day of the war with the Svartálfar. Her body was male again and in shambles. His limbs were bloody, broken and yet he kept fighting, movement fueled only by the raging seidr in his body and cursed blood in his veins. 

Bor’s next attack was his last. Loptr caught the flash of the bifrost from his peripheral and barely dodged Bor’s strike enough to be cut clear in half, but the damage was done. He lay useless in the dirt as Odin approached.

He felt everything. The unmistakable pain of a gravely deep wound, the lightheadedness caused by severe hemorrhaging, the light tapping on his cheek and gentle hand brushing his bloody sweat soaked hair out of his face.

Then the unthinkable. 

As Odin was distracted calling for a healer, Loptr watched as his own hand shot up and ripped out his brother’s throat.

Internally, Loptr squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself that reality did not play out like this vision, that this was only a vision and she was actually meditating in a cave on Svartalfheim. 

Snapping back to reality, Loptr opened his eyes only to find himself on an unfamiliar wintery planet. The fjord stretched as far as the eye could see, serene with a subtle feeling of disaster boiling just beneath its calm surface.

Odin was by his side handing him a warm mug of tea. Loptr took a long sip noting the odd twang of spice that burned his throat as his vision swam. A muscle-bound hand clapped his back. “Take it easy there, you took a pretty nasty hit to the head,” Odin said. 

Loptr’s vision darkened as dizziness overtook him. All he remembered was being overwhelmed by the feeling of disappointment and seeing Odin’s mouth moving in the shape of, Med-gard? Mead-gard? Midgard? 

In all his years of traveling among Yggdrasil’s branches, he had never heard of such a place.

Loptr felt her limbs lax and being pulled back into consciousness.

He gasped for breath as his body screamed in pain. The wound at the side of his head hurt most of all. His heart beat heavily in his chest as he frantically searched for his seidr, relaxing only when he felt its weak, but present hum. Loptr calmed himself and tried to peek into Yggdrasil again to see where he was. She was inaccessible. He was not within the reach of her branches.

The floor was hard and cold, metal, likely. His sight was slow to restore, but he knew he was definitely on a vessel and in space. Needles poked at his mind as a silhouette of a man appeared, a tall, gray stick-like figure with thinning hair and sinister smile. Every fiber of his being identified this man as an enemy. Loptr forced himself upright and charged, stabbing the figure in the eye with a decorated Sakaaran dagger.

Loptr withdrew the dagger with a swift jerk and pulled the dislodged eye off the blade, popping it back into his own head. He licked the sweet blood off the dagger as Odin’s corpse fell to his feet.

That can’t be right. He was just...

Loptr looked down to find the corpse of a young Odin in his arms. A single wooden arrow piercing his chest. Only he wasn’t Odin. This boy was much too lithe and Odin never had such brilliant blond hair. His was… his was…

“...okk … Lokk … Lokk,” a voice kept repeating as claw-like fingers dug into her temples and a heavy-handed palm put pressure over her eyes. “Get up!”

Loptr shot up, panting and in a cold sweat. She was beyond exhausted.

The fire cracked beside her as the cave in Svartalfheim came into view.

“You are an idiot,” the same voice from earlier said, the being handing her a towel.

Loptr smiled, “Angrboda.” 

She happily took the towel, letting out a shaky breath. Relief washed over her as she caught sight of her friend confirming reality.

Angrboda took Loptr’s hand in hers and pricked Loptr’s finger with a dagger. “You shouldn’t have tried that while housing that stone,” she said a little too calmly as she extracted seidr from Loptr’s finger. “You could have drowned in fluid reality for all eternity, unable to die, unable to live. Your body has already taken on the liberties to produce enough seidr to sustain you for the wretched fate.” 

At this point it was almost as if she was talking to herself. Loptr sat silently, letting Angrboda gathering Loptr’s raw magic in her hand. “If we don’t let this excessive seidr out, the container will crack and the stone’s power will exploit the weak points to escape. But before that, it will drive you mad.”

Loptr smiled dumbly at Angrboda’s work.

She snapped twice at Loptr, “Is that what you want? You foolish man?”

On cue, Loptr shifted back to his male form.

“It is not,” Loptr confirmed. “I wanted to see you, but the Ironwood wouldn’t let me in.”

There was a reason it was called Ironwood after all.

Angrboda’s face flushed as she tried to mask the awkwardness by melding Loptr’s seidr with her own, shaping it into a small wolf. She kept her hands busy and tickled its small form trying her best, but failing to keep her attention on it.

“I have so many questions I wanted to ask, about the time stone, about Oshtur, about the Aeth…” 

Angrboda covered Loptr’s mouth to silence him. “Don’t call it by a name. That gives it too much power,” she warned, slowly pulling her hand away and refocusing back on the fluid shape of the wolf pup. She was glad the topic changed, but at the same time disappointmented that Loptr looked forward to seeing her only for answers.

He stilled her hand as he took the pup in his. “Fenrir,” he said, cementing its wolf form. Loptr gave Fenrir a satisfying scratch behind the ears. He held the squirming pup, “Definitely a boy,” he confirmed setting Fenrir down. 

Angrboda watched on exasperated as Loptr rough played with the pup and Fenrir retaliated by chewing on his father’s fingers.

Angrboda boiled in anger. Fenrir yelped in surprise as she roughly picked in up by the scruff. Without another word, she threw a rune stick at Loptr and left.

Loptr sat alone in the cave, trying to process Angrboda’s sudden outburst and trying to make sense of his visions.

* * *

By nightfall, Loptr returned to the ruins completely exhausted. It was the safest and most comforting place additionally, now that Odin was king, he didn’t have to worry about interruptions or sneak attacks. Just the sounds of nature and the crackling of a fire accompanying him.

Loptr activated the rune stick.

Angrboda’s magic appeared. “Lokk, by the time you are looking over this rune stick, you have likely gathered many questions about your past and future. Most of which I am not at liberty to answer. Many of which higher powers prohibit me from answering. However, I can lead you to come to your own conclusions about the visions. How you choose to live after that, is your decision.”

“That said, my first warning to you is to never try entering into this meditative state alone again. It is a danger to you and with those stones, who knows what would happen if you could not wake,” she said, her voice stern. “For simple meditation to control your more feral half, keep this amulet close. I have infused it with my power to guide you as needed.” 

Magic swirled to Loptr’s hand and squiggled around until it formed a small gold ouroboros amulet. Closing his hand tightly around it, he stores it in his dimensional pocket.

Angrboda’s foresight allowed her access to most of Loptr’s visions with much accuracy, save some details here and there. She explained how depending on what stone he was housing, the affects, strength and integrity of the visions could vary.

One piece of vital information clung to his mind and weighed his heart heavily with discomfort.

“The visions you see, may or may not be the whole truth, but reveals some truths and possibilities of reality - especially with the stone you are housing at the time you first access the rune stick.”

It was something he wanted to unsee and unhear. A confirmation of a likely future where he will kill Odin.


	30. Chapter 30

It had been a week since Odin safely transported Frigg and the twins back to the palace. Only a week old and the twin’s personalities were already beginning to shine through. Hod, the stronger twin, was calm, quiet and unusually self sufficient in his young age. Balder, the smaller twin, was loud, needy, but a glutton and getting stronger by the day. Odin was overjoyed that Frigg’s spell had worked and the boys were healthy.

He was even more excited when he caught news that Tyr had been reborn a few weeks before and conveniently to the family of one of his mid-ranking generals. The general was promoted and the family was promptly invited to make a section of the palace their own in favor of giving the newborn Tyr the best education and training.

Other than the lack of sleep brought on by the twins, namely Balder, Odin’s reign had been progressing smoothly.

Odin strode outside to the balcony after Balder’s night feeding and slumped with a sigh. True, he had wet nurses to help with the boys, but he felt it was his duty towards Frigg to help care for them. 

Every second of it was torture.

“Not sleeping well, Brother?” Came a voice above him. 

Loptr was standing in the open sky looking down at his brother. With the flick of his hand, he released his seidr and landed on the balcony railing near where Odin was leaning.

“Ay, it’s good to see you Loptr. How many years has it been? I was wondering when you would come see your nephews.” Odin shot a hand out to pull at one of Loptr’s legs.

“Too long, Brother,” Loptr laughed, jumping down and clapping Odin on the back, “tsk tsk tsk, look at those bags. What’s the matter, the children being too harsh on you?”

“Let’s just say the phrase, ‘Sleeping like a baby,’ doesn’t actually apply to babies,” Odin dully replies.

“They hate me,” Odin sighed. “And if Frigg would ever accept help from other people, maybe I could send them off to a villa for the maids to take care of in the countryside.”

Loptr whistled, “The great Odin of Asgard, hero of the Svartálfar War, done in by week-old infants still attached to their mother’s breasts,” he acted out dramatically.

“I’d like to see you have a try at them,” Odin yawned. 

“Perhaps I will,” Loptr accepted the challenge as he shifted to look identical to Odin. “You can be me for the day. Maybe you can distract Frigg and make her like me with your wily charms and my good looks,” Loptr jested, pinching Odin’s chin.

Odin furrowed his brows in focus, “Ha! I’m sure she doesn’t hate you like you say. She’s just a straightforward woman.” Odin concentrated more. He rarely uses magic for such intricacies. More accurately, he rarely used magic at all.

Out of pity, Loptr put his hand over Odin’s eyes and helped him imagine himself in a different form. Some people were born with magical talent, others were not - even when said talent was literally given to them on a platter.

Loptr couldn’t do anything about the glowing energy of the eye, but he doubted Frigg would spare him a glance to notice.

The next day, Loptr took on Odin’s duties as king, which he hated and as a father, which he found unexpectedly fulfilling.

Frigg denying “Loptr’s” request for a visit effectively granted Odin a day off with Loptr’s presence handling matters. A free day he happily enjoyed wandering the forests alone. A free day where his mind was allowed to wander, guided only by the whispers in the wind.

“Did you really spend the whole day hiding out and sleeping in here?” Loptr asked. Both boys were tightly swaddled, Balder in his arms feverintly sucking at a bottle and Hod sound asleep floating beside Loptr, who was still disguised as Odin.

Odin opened his eyes in shock. “I…” that was weird, Odin could have sworn he was just in the forest spacing out as he was waiting for some game. Regaining his bearings, his eyes stopped at the babies quiet and floating in front of him.

Loptr trailed Odin’s line of sight to Hod, “Ah, don’t worry, Frigg is comfortably resting.”

Odin’s eyebrow slowly rose skeptically.

“...possibly under a wonderfully rejuvenating sleeping spell,” Loptr reluctantly added.

“The boys aren’t, by the way,” Loptr said, smug with triumph. “Cute little buggers aren’t they?” he said, stroking Balder’s rosy cheek.

“So does that mean you staying to take care of them?” Odin said, admitting to defeat. A question that earned him “the look”.

As Odin shifted to sit up, a waterskin fell from his lap. 

Mimir’s waterskin. 

Clarification: Mimir’s empty waterskin.

Odin willed himself to pick it up and brush it off as if it were nothing. Luckily, Loptr was too busy with the children to notice.

He wasn’t sure what would happen if he indeed had drank the contents of the waterskin or if it had merely dried up. He didn't even remember what had happened between hunting in the forest and waking up past dark in the nursery. The lapse in memory cannot be a good sign.

Well, at least Loptr is staying for a while. If there were any weird, magical things that should happen as a consequence, Odin had no doubt that Loptr would find a solution.

* * *

Odin awoke the next morning in tears with the echo of a nightmare clinging tightly to his mind. 

“How unsightly of a king,” said a whisper. 

Disappointment and anger washed over Odin as he composed himself and left before Frigg stirred.

He knew the waters from Mimir’s well induced insight of the future and provided wisdom of how to navigate through calamity, but how did it work? How accurate was that future? How encompassing was the solution? Does the water’s magical properties degrade over time? Over storage conditions?

Odin was reluctant to believe the echo of Bor’s words in his possibly magically induced nightmares. That Loptr would lead an army to destroy the realms and bring death to the royal family. That Loptr was this cycle’s harbinger of Ragnarök.

Surely even the Norns cannot be so certain as to how specific events play out, can Mimir’s water?

If anyone on Asgard had answers, it would probably be Bestla. With her relationship with Loptr, she would be most likely to help explain the nightmares and perhaps give him the benefit in a trove of doubt. She would also have the most knowledge in regards to her brother’s magic well. 

however since his ascent to the throne, she had been avoiding him for a good part of the century. Even his marriage and the birth of her grandchildren has not enticed her to come out of hiding. He only hoped coming with business instead of leisure would finally grant him her attention.


End file.
